Cheating Death
by RubyRedAvenger
Summary: "Everyone always thought of me as a 'good girl'..."  Hogwarts is at the mercy of Snape and the Carrows, but for Ginny falling into the bed of a known Death Eater may prove to stir old ways as she fights to play her part in cheating death, despite the cost
1. Chapter 1

Everyone had always thought of me as a "good girl". Hell, most times even I was deluded into believing it myself. I wanted to be something more than I was, well, maybe better the right word; I wanted to be something better. I didn't want to be affected like I was; but as all afflictions go this one would gnaw at me increasingly over the years. Sometimes I could bat it down, other times it exploded forth, leaving me soaked in my own regret. I hate clichés, and I hated even more than I was one, that I couldn't break the mold and discredit the stereotype. I didn't want to be face it, but after what I'd done nothing could stop it from rearing its ugly head, sniffling hopefully at the victim laden situation, and commence to snowball out of control.

But it was time I faced facts, came clean, sucked it up and admitted my problem that I knew upon my admission would become my label and that I would inadvertently go on boosting the stereotype: "Once a cheater, always a cheater". And I was a cheater.

And it just might save my life.


	2. Chapter 2

It was September 1st, and per usual, I was aboard the Hogwart's Express steaming its way through the rocky country side to the magical castle.

To an outsider, everything was business as usual: the train left on time, students piled into the corridors and compartment all dressed in their prominent school robes and house colors. The witch who pushed the trolley offered all of the same sweets as last year, the school trunks were still just as heavy, and the first years were as giddy as the older students were as bored by the nine hour endeavor.

But it wasn't the same. The Hogwart's population looked ravaged and depleted. The muggleborns, and even some half-bloods, were missing from the teenage throng. We were like specks of yellow, blue and red floating into a sea of green. Death Eaters stood guard in the corridors. Any outburst of laughter sounded shrill and unnatural. My brother, my friend, and my first love were among the absent; off to save the world while here I sat, shoulder to shoulder with Luna on one side and Neville on the other, who, like me, were too scared or nervous to do much more than jiggle our legs and shoot sidelong glances at the black robed figure outside our compartment.

I don't know where their concerns were laid, but mine, I guess, were obvious; I was waiting for the billowing robes of that nearest Death Eater to whirl around in a fit of recognition for here sat an obvious blood traitor, made vivid by her Weasley hair, and wouldn't she do well to lure "Undesirable No. 1" out of hiding.

I could just imagine their thoughts forming, their wands rising, but none of it happened, and for the long nine hours I was at the mercy of my own imagination rather than their cruel realities.

We docked in the Hogsmeade station under the cover of darkness. Hagrid's familiar boom could be heard among the nonexistent chatter, but it lacked its usual verve as he noted the few straggling fresh faces, maybe one per boat when in my day we filled the hull.

"Alright, Hagrid?" I asked as I approached, Luna and Neville in tow.

He shook his head, leaning towards us in an effort to whisper that I knew would be wasted, "S'all gone down hill, it has."

"How do you mean?" Luna asked, crowding in.

"Them Carrows are a right nasty piece ofwork. And yeh thought Snape was bad, ha!" he huffed, straightening up and ensuring we hadn't been over heard, "Dunno how much longer Hogwarts'll be open with this lot runnin' the place. I mean, blimey, barely enough first years to fill a dormitory or two."

He shook his head again as if trying to rid himself of his seemingly impossible reality, "Now, yeh best be lookin' after yerselves."

He sighed loudly, waving us past, making it clear that Snape's eyes were everywhere with a nervous shuffle of his feet as he edged away from us and towards the path to the boat house.

"Come on, then," Neville whispered, pulling at my sleeve, "We should get a move on towards the carriages or we'll be walking the path up to the Great Hall."

He was right. As eager I usually was to approach the castle, to tuck into the welcoming feast, to gossip and catch up with the girl's before bed, this time my feet felt like lead, my excitement was drained.

We approached the carriages, joining the miniscule queue. The carriage approached, and pulling it was a skeletal black horse like creature I'd read about, seen illustrations of, and been informed of by Harry and Luna in my fourth year. But here they were, in the sleek, scaly flesh, and I knew it what it meant: I'd witnessed death, and I was sure that I hadn't seen the last of it.

I pulled the handle of the thin black door and slid inside, pulling my trunk in with me as I went. I turned back around, expecting to see Neville lumbering through the hatch only to find the long slender fingers, steely gray eyes, and pale visage of Draco Malfoy emerging through the access.

"Malfoy!" I snapped, my eyes blazing at the sight of him.

He seated himself eloquently across from me, closing the door upon Neville's attempt to force his way into the carriage, his efforts more than likely hindered by the bulging biceps of Crabbe and Goyle.

"Hello," he smiled, clearly enjoying his control over the situation, "I was thinking we could have a nice chat."

"Chat?" I hissed, my arms folding across my chest, anger welling up inside of me.

"Yes, see, I was thinking how terrible it would be if Potter was caught up short on his little anti-Dark Lord adventure, see, and I just know that my father, among many, would be anxious to get their hands on the boy who lived if only to watch him die."

I didn't want to admit it, but he had my full attention as he voiced all the things I had been fearing on the long train ride up; how the Death Eaters knew Harry was on the run, how it was common knowledge that he was friendly with my family, that we had dated, and how convenient it was the I returned to school so they wouldn't have to hunt out their bait. But he offered mercy, he offered sanctuary. He wouldn't send his henchmen after the blood traitor… for a price.

"What do you want?" I whispered, my words in danger of being drowned by the sound of my heart pounding in my chest.

He slid on to the bench next to me, his arm draped across the headrest. As I scooted away from him and against the far wall, he inched closer, placing his hand on my thigh.

"I'm sure we can think of something," he whispered, so close that I could feel his breath upon my face.

I forced my eyes to meet his, I forced my fears away, and I swallowed back the bile threatening to rise in my throat.

As degrading as it was to admit to myself, I'd never been faithful to any boyfriend I'd had. It wasn't something I was proud of; it wasn't something I boasted of, not in the slightest. I couldn't help myself but to tumble into the traps headed by a look there, a smile here, eventually a caress, a kiss. I convinced myself it wasn't that big of a deal, that my kisses meant nothing when they landed on the lips of other boys as long as I remained in control of them, as long as know one found out. It was all an illusion, and I was just as deluded at the boys I'd ensnared.

But Harry was different. Harry was…. I couldn't even find the words. I wanted to be better, I wanted to be reformed, I wanted to be someone who was deserving of him. Sure, it seems like nothing on the outside, but on the inside it tore at me. I worked to spurn the advances of other boys when normally I would smile coyly, bite my lip, look up at them from under my lashes in that way that I knew made the guys go wild. I'd fall into their open arms, sit on their awaiting laps, send racy messages, meet in the dark corners of the library for a… but no, I wanted to be better, and I wanted to be different. Harry was worth that, and even now, especially now, that he was off fending for the freedom of the wizarding world, how could I allow myself to fall into my old traps, the ones I worked so hard to wheedle free from?

"You'd be saving him…" a voice whispered from the back of my head, the voice of so many excuses, the voice that had eased the well deserved guilt I'd earned.

"You'd be saving him…" the voice continued, "As well as yourself, your family, your friends… you'd be saving him."

"What do you say, Weasley?" Malfoy whispered, his lips brushing against my jaw line.

I repressed a shudder and instead leaned lightly into him, and if my sudden change in demeanor took him by surprise it never showed. I cupped his face in my hand, leaning in close to him, putting on the old act like one would step into their old shoes, or fall back into a forgotten bad habit.

"Oh, Draco," I whispered with deliberate carelessness. It was easy, it was sickeningly familiar. I ignored the nausea burning in my stomach as I brushed my lips lightly against his, back and forth once, twice, and on the third time I leaned into the kiss, one of many to come, pressing my lips against his, my eyes shut tight against my disgust.

How far would this go? And how many excuses would I swallow to force my way through it?


	3. Chapter 3

"Did you hear? Ginny Weasley's dating Draco Malfoy!"

"He could do better…"

"How could she date him, after Harry? I guess she's chosen sides."

"I hear they've already slept together…"

The rumors began circling the next day, helped along, no doubt, by the effect had as Draco and I emerged from our carriage, entering the Great Hall as he took my hand in his and smiled triumphantly as he brought it to his lips before sending me off to sit with my fellow lions, like it was a sick joke for all to take part in.

That night I had snuck up to Neville's dormitory. Once full with five boisterous boys, now only two remained. I perched myself on the end of Neville's bed as he drew the curtain around us.

"I don't believe it…" he began.

"Neville, look, I can explain. I…" I began hastily before he cut me short.

"No, the rumors, the relationship, I don't believe it. I didn't, not for a second."

Relief washed over me at Neville's words; at least I had a confidant in someone, I wouldn't be completely on my own.

Needless to say, my friends hadn't been too happy with my new "relationship". They considered it treachery, how could I do this Harry? To the cause? Didn't Dumbledore's Army mean anything? To them, I was jumping ship, every glance, touch, kiss would envelope me deeper into Voldemort's Armada. To them, being the girlfriend, even a make-believe one, of a Death Eater was the same as being one myself.

And it wasn't as if the Slytherin's were opening their arms, either. Parkinson and her posse wasted no time slandering my name up and down the corridors by breakfast the next day. In a way I felt bad for her, it was only obvious that she had lusted after Malfoy since their first year, and here he was dangling me, the blood traitor, in front of her as if to say, "Anyone but you."

However, my empathy halted once her rumors took a right turn from her usual bravado and onto a new road of nastiness.

"_Which positions do you think are possible in a carriage?" she had asked loudly during breakfast that first morning, "I'm sure Weasley knows them all, what with all the miles she's got on her." __She smirked, obviously pleased with her jibe. I worked hard to ignore her voice as it carried across the hall, giving the act of buttering my toast more concentration than necessary. _"_I'd tell Draco to take care before he caught something, but it's not like you can help it with blood traitors: they're next to mudbloods in my book," she continued as her friends shrieked with contemptuous laughter. _

"So tell," he whispered, mercifully pulling me back from my harsh reverie, "Tell me what happened in the carriage. I know it wasn't love at thirty-second sight. I mean the look on your face as he grabbed your hand; you looked like you'd rather be linking arms with the giant squid. Honestly, Gin, anyone who believes this rubbish is deluding themselves."

I sighed, relieved and hopeful as I filled him in, glad that not everyone was fooled by my charade, and that maybe things would be easier than I had thought.

As the next day approached, however, I began to learn just how naïve I was.


	4. Chapter 4

I avoided the Great Hall the next morning, already tired of the remarks that followed me like hissing geese, angry and ignorant, as I wound my way from class to class.

Due to the severe decrease in the Hogwarts population, our classes were now to be conjoined like some perverse old fashioned school house you heard about in muggle history lessons. The first years would remain on their own, for the time being, not having obtained enough, or any for that matter, magic to allow them to participate in the class work of other levels. The second years were paired with the third years, the fourth with the fifth, and that only left the sixth with the seventh.

Naturally the Ministry approved it, what with Voldemort playing puppeteer, and passed it in front of the noses of anxious parents by explaining that a bit of relapse in learning was best for 'maximum knowledge retention'.

Despite knowing that propaganda was about as clear as polyjuice potion, I busied myself in the library under the pretense of throwing myself into the new academic regime, looking up seventh year spells and methods. And if that first day reflected anything, I would be finding most of my solace in the dank, dusty corners of the library, and the rest in Neville's promises to help me through it.

It was only a matter of time before Harry would surface again; his hair a mess, his glasses askew, brandishing the Sword of Gryffindor that Dumbledore's will had left him and that he was, no doubt, on his journey now to uncover. With a victorious roar he would charge Voldemort, running him through with the ruby encrusted hilt, leaving him crumpled, desolate, destroyed as his followers flew the persecution of the Ministry, now awoken from their imperiused state, that would begin to fill the cells of Azkaban once more. Then Harry would storm the castle, search me out, grab me up in a loving embrace of 'I love you's and kisses while simultaneously hexing Malfoy to dust.

"Ginny?" a voice broke me of my overly ambitious daydream.

My hand instantly shot out to the near book, grabbing it in a last ditch attempt to look busy in case Madame Pince set to uproot me from loitering. She still hadn't forgiven me for eating Mum's choco-toffee eggs in the vicinity of her precious books back in my fourth year.

"Ginny, it's me," Neville declared, a statement made unnecessary as he rounded the corner, buttered toast and napkins in his hands and a folded _Daily Prophet_ hooked up under his arm.

"Neville," I sighed, "Damn, gave me quite a fright."

He slid into the window seat next to me, his toes still touching the dusty wood floors where as mine hung in mid-air, bouncing occasionally against the castle's stone walls.

"I figured you hadn't eaten," he surmised, handing me the butter laden pieces.

"You figured right," I answered, my mouth already full off of a massive bite, "I've been avoiding the Hall; just couldn't deal with Parkinson this morning. Thanks," I added as he passed me a napkin.

"And avoiding your Slytherin Prince, no doubt," he whispered

I nodded, chewing fervently.

"Well, risking Pince flaying me alive by bringing crumbs into her darling library wasn't the only reason I came. You've got to see this."

He spread the _Prophet_ over both our laps, revealing the latest picture of Harry, the one splashed across Ministry pamphlets and posts, laden with warnings and accusations, under an enormous heading overweighing all others on the front page.

"**Undersirable Number One Infiltrates Ministry:**

**Muggleborns Escaped, Top Official Attacked, Property Defaced"**

_Harry James Potter, known conspirator against the Ministry with a warrant out for his arrest for the failure to report for questioning about the death of Albus Dumbledore, previous Hogwart's Headmaster, was spotted fleeing the Ministry yesterday afternoon with two accomplices disguised as none other than Muggleborn Registrar Albert Runcorn. _

_Potter, it appears, entered the Ministry to disrupt the hearings of alleged Muggleborns, believed to have stolen their magic from unknowing witches and wizards of legitimized blood status, and attack Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores Jane Umbridge, as she performed her routine bouts of questioning._

"_I knew it was him the moment he entered the courtroom," Umbridge explained, "For Albert is a dear colleague and friend of mine, and would never hurt a Ministry Official. Potter was always a disciplinary case back in my days as a Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy; I routinely had him in my office doing lines for spreading nasty lies and other misdeeds."_

_For those of your who don't remember, Umbridge spent a brief one year stint as an educator in the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts position, excelling herself to the position of the first ever Hogwart's High Inquisitor. A position of which was later revoked upon Umbridge's resignation from the school._

"_He raised his wand to me and the rest is a blur," she continues, "But I do know for a fact that he was riffling about in my office, as my security sensors informed the Magical Department of Law Enforcement Head."_

_Upon their arrival at the Senior Undersecretary's office, Law Enforcement Officials noted the absence of a particular security object too classified to mention to the public, but we are told once belonged to the late Auror Alastor Moody, pronounced dead in his home last month due to the rebound one of his own defensive charms._

_Undesirable Number One and his accomplices made away with no less than a dozen alleged thieves of magic, after attacking Umbridge. _

_The whereabouts of Harry Potter are currently unknown, but he is believed to mad and extremely dangerous. Ministry Officials warn the wizarding community not to attempt to arrest or duel Potter, but to call for Magical Law Enforcement with any information. _

I couldn't believe my eyes. Sure, the _Prophet_ rarely got its facts straight these days, but reporting such lies and pushing them off on the public as Merlin's honest truth?

"They're trying to discredit him and the cause," Neville shrugged, "I mean, it's smart, what they're doing. It worked back in our fifth year, anyway."

"Yeah," I nodded, "And like then he still had us fighting with him, fighting for him. Neville," I continued in a whispered, my eyes scanning the article, comprehension dawning on me, "What if Harry was after the Sword?"

"The what?" Neville asked, "What would Harry be doing with a sword?"

"Not just any sword," I rushed, my excitement mounting, "But the Sword of Gryffindor!"

"The Sword of…" he shook his head, "I still don't quite…"

"Harry told me that in his will Dumbledore left Harry the Sword of Gryffindor, but Scrimegour refused to hand it over, stating that it wasn't Dumbledore's to give because it belonged to the school. What if Harry broke into the Ministry to try to steal back the Sword!"

"Alright," Neville replied slowly, his own momentum mounting, "And maybe, maybe Dumbledore left it to him because it's a way to defeat Vol-… I mean, You-Know-Who! You know, defeating the Heir of Slytherin with the Sword of Gryffindor!"

"Yes!" I cried, quickly throwing a hand over my mouth to again remain quiet, but nothing could tame the exhilaration in my eyes. "And if Scrimegour said it belongs to the school, then he must have returned it to the school, which means…."

"That is must be in Snape's office!" Neville finished for me.

Silence fell, but excitement continued to hover over us like the clouds from the Elixir of Euphoria.

"We need to break into Snape's office," Neville whispered, suddenly serious.

I nodded, "You think Luna'll help us with the…."

"Longbottom," came a drawl at the end of the book lined corridor. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard? "And my _girlfriend_."

"What a cozy little corner you've found yourselves in, huh?" he asked, a cruel smile playing on his lips, his eyes falling on the crumb filled napkins and the _Prophet_ still spread across my knees, "And what a _great_ place for a pleasant breakfast… for _two_."

The eurphoria melted, leaving the confined space hot and stuffy with tension and anxiety.

Neville stood, brushing my legs with his shoulder as he stooped to pick up the fallen napkins and shoving them into his bag before taking a few tentative steps forward.

"Malfoy, look I…" he began before a jet of bright red light hit him square in the chest and he crumpled over backward, banging his head on the lower shelves as he fell.

"Neville!" I shrieked, jumping from the window seat and hurrying towards his fallen body, a large lump forming on the top of his head.

"Don't!" Malfoy snapped, "Don't touch him!"

I halted, half crouched over Neville, the stance making my legs ache like some bizarre game of 'Freeze and Go'.

"Now," his voice softened, his wand lowered, "Come here."

I hesitated, unsure, but he nodded, a light smile upon his face, his hand outstretched for me to take.

"Come here, little Red," he whispered, "That's it. That's it."

I took his hand lightly and felt his fingers close like a vice on mine, pulling me to his chest so that I was looking directly into his steely eyes, "There, that's a good girl. Now you were just studying when Longbottom happened upon you; you two didn't plan to meet, yes?"

I nodded mutely.

"And you were merely being polite by allowing him to join you, yes? He is, after all, an old friend."

Again, I nodded.

"I trust you say today's headlines?"

I hesitated, but seeing as how the _Prophet_ lay mere feet away where it had fallen from my lap in my haste to reach Neville, Harry's brilliant green eyes blinking up at us.

"I, I did," I stammered.

"Then it looks like you've got to step your game up," he nodded, "We wouldn't want anyone thinking you have any information on the whereabouts of Potter, would we?"

I shook my head, feeling my knees begin to knock against one another, knowing that if it weren't for Malfoy's grip on me, my legs would probably give way all together and I'd be joining Neville on the floor.

"Come now, darling," placing a light kiss on my forehead, "Class'll be starting soon, and we have lots to learn, now don't we?"

I looked back at Neville's huddled form as he pulled me from the library and into the corridors.

Yes, I had a lot to learn, and charms, spells, and potions were the least of it.


	5. Chapter 5

He strolled into Defense Against the Darks Arts as a king would strut through his gardens, a pretty maid-in-waiting in tow trying her best to looked pleased with his every word, but in reality wishing herself somewhere, anywhere, but on his arm.

Taking a table in the back center row, he slid lightly into one of its seats, sliding the other out for me expectantly, his eyes on mine, knowing that with the increased importance put upon my "role" in lieu of the recent _Prophet_ headings that my future place would be forever by his side, under his eyes.

"Oh," I issued, feigning surprise, "But I was hoping to sit with…"

My eyes roved the classroom, frantic for a partner-less classmate, an empty chair. Seamus was by himself, no doubt awaiting Neville who, if he even arrived, would show sporting a bloody lump and a week's worth of detentions. Yet, Seamus was a bad choice, after what he'd done with Neville, harmless Neville, what would be done with smooth talking Mr. Finnigan made brazen by his Irish blood?

Lavender Brown sat at the table that seemed over large for her without Pavarti's bubbling personality filling the room. I knew catching her eye would be near impossible as she was still sore over what she referred to as the "untimely end" of her and my brother's snogfest of a relationship. Frankly, I was more than glad to see it ended, feeling the tension between Ron and Hermione over the years was like trying to fit into my first year robes: awkward for those who witness it as well as extraordinarily uncomfortable for those involved. But I'd be lying if I said I would turn down even her help.

Just then, as if by a stroke of luck, a rare one at that, Luna flounced through the door, her hair all a dizzy, no doubt fending off Nargles in the early hours of the morning, the time when she insisted, along with after a large lunch, they were most present.

"Luna!" I cried, my face splitting into a grin of relief, waving frantically at her, "Yes, I was hoping to sit with Luna!"

I turned to look down at Draco, what I hoped appeared to be an innocent smile playing across my features, before turning back to Luna, waving exuberantly once more.

"Morning, Ginny," she smiled serenely, returning my wave enthusiastically before plopping into the vacant seat next to Lavender in the front row.

"Damn," I hissed under my breath. It was always the overtly smart ones, the ones with IQs easily passing the 130s, that were thick as trolls when it came to social cues. As always, there were exceptions to the rule, like Hermione's ability to read the mood of any situation, and Ron's ignorance towards any feeling that wasn't in his gut.

"Eh, hem," Draco cleared his throat, gathering my attention as he patted the wooden seat, his eyes dancing jubilantly, not fooled for a moment, as I inched into it, his cronies falling into chairs at the tables on either side.

"Settle in, _Darling_," Draco purred in my ear, his nose brushing my cheek as his lips grazed my jaw line, "I have it on good authority that this will be an informative lesson."

It was our first lesson with the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Amycus Carrow, a known Death Eater. I recognized him from the night Dumbledore died last year, running from the tower with his sister, the new Muggle Studies Professor, Alecto Carrow, and Draco in tow.

I felt a shiver shoot up my spine. Draco must has felt it, too, sensing my unease for he gave my shoulders a little squeeze as if to say, "This should be fun."

Professor Carrow began the lesson by taking role. It was so surreal, something so normal that it took me off guard.

"Longbottom?" he asked, glancing from his roster parchment and across the classroom, "Longbottom?"

"He, uh, won't be joining us," Draco smiled. "It's a shame he'll miss the lesson, sir. I know it'll be a riveting one."

Amycus met his eyes from across the classroom, his face splitting into a sinister smirk, "Won't be joinin' us, eh? Well, now that merits him a detention or two, that does."

He scribbled something on the parchment before resuming the role call.

"Ah," Draco chuckled, whispering across the aisle to Goyle, "So maybe he won't miss the lesson after all."

Goyle guffawed, passing on the message to Crabbe who giggled with glee.

"Weasley?" the Professor rang out, rounding up the role.

I raised my hand as his eyes found mine, shifting between myself and Draco, that evil smile playing on his lips once more as if sharing a private joke, Death Eaters only kind of joke, though I bet I could have guessed the punch line.

"Today we'll be learnin' 'bout the unforgivable curses," Professor Carrow boomed, clapping his hands together. I was instantly reminded the my first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of my third year, where another Death Eater stood before me, instructing me on the curses he had used himself, the ones that had landed him in Azkaban before he had broken free to rejoin the Dark Lord who, thanks to his intervention, was now reeking havoc across the nation.

"As y'all know, there are three unforgivable curses," he lecture eagerly, as the door opened behind him and three figures entered, being lead by Mr. Filch who dragged them into the room by the shackles attached to their wrists. It was a bizarre sort of chain gang, dressed in Hogwart's school robes with black hoods over their heads, masking their identity, with long chains stretching from their bound hands, which were posed neatly in front of their waists, that were well oiled and free of rust. It was clear they were well cared for, though in my past years at Hogwarts I had never seen them before.

"Now, us'ally, those who've done the unforgivable curses have earned themselves a first class pass to the cells. However, it is the belief of our Minister, Pius Thickness, that as long as them curses are used for the greater good of wizards, that the rules can be bent some."

I sensed where this was going, and silently prayed I was wrong.

"Dis'pline is important at any school. Practicing spells is 'sential in for any wizard. I reckon why not combine the two," his features took a maniacal twist as he took the chains from Mr. Filch, pulling the figures roughly forward so that one fell to their knees and, with their hands bound, was unable to right themself again. Professor Carrow cackled as the student struggled, huffs and groans issuing from under the hood from the fruitless efforts.

"Now, who can name me one of them curses?" he asked, pulling his attentions away from the struggling student to the rest of the class.

No one raised their hands, every was silent, still, shocked at the possibility of what was mounting before them. Who were these figures? Why were they here? Surely, he wasn't going to…

"Ah, yes, Crabbe?" Professor Carrow smiled, "You have a curse?"

Everyone turned in their seats, surprised not only that Crabbe had an answer for the Professor, a first if ever there was one, but at the script that was seeming to unfold.

"The crucio curse," he announced, looking more than pleased with himself.

"Yes," the Professor nodded, "The cruiciatus curse. Causes pain." He paused before adding, "Would ya like to dem'strate for the class?"

"Yes, sir," Crabbe smiled, bounding from his seat towards the front of the class, who watched, horrified, as Professor Carrow offered him the tails of the three chains for his choosing. He took the chain of the figure already on the floor, pulling it tight, allowing the huddled shape of robes and hood to issue a moan of pain as they were pulled forward into the floor once more.

Crabbe dropped the chain, striding forward to rip the hood from the person's head. It was a little girl, a first year by the looks of her, two blonde braids lying limply against her collar of Hufflepuff yellow. I later learned that her name was Alison McDougal, and her crime was insubornation, or in short asking how Muggle children could have stolen our magic if Squibs can't during her first Muggle Studies class.

Her face crumpled in fear as Crabbe grinned wickedly down upon her. Goyle began to rise in his seat, eager for a better view while others tried their hardest to look away.

"Crucio," he whispered, his voice surprisingly soft, but soon drowned out again the violent screams that issued from the little girl, so loud, so terrible that you wouldn't have imagined that her little body could have held them.

Those in the front row pushed their chairs back from the desks at the noise, horrified and disgusted, desperate to get away, knowing they couldn't help.

Crabbe lifted his wand and the screaming ceased. The girl lay huddled against the floor, her nails digging into the wood, her chest rising and falling in great heaves as if trying to steady herself.

The other figures writhed against their chains, knowing the fate that awaited them when another student was asked to volunteer, but as Crabbe returned to his seat, scoring ten points for Slytherin for his skillful wand work, no hands shot in the air, no one was eager to participate. Even Filch, who enjoyed the idea of stringing students up by their ankles for any wrong doing, was looking a little green, swallowing back the protests that he knew would do him no good.

"No takers, eh? How about…" he addressed his class roster, looking as if Christmas had come early when he announced, "Weasley? How about Weasley?"

I swallowed hard, shaking my head, "No, Professor, I don't think I…"

"Come now, give it try," Draco cajoled, as if talking to me into trying a new taste or working out a new move on the Quidditch pitch, "Can't _hurt_ to try, now can it?"

He laughed at the shock on my face, pushing me from my chair so that I was standing before I knew it.

Professor Carrow passed me the end of one of the chains, and I took it in my shaking hands. It was like running into an immovable object when you're pushed by an unstoppable force. I knew if I didn't curse this student, this poor Frankie First-Year, faced this wrath for a misdemeanor so moderate as being late for class, I'd be on the other end of the chain myself. Was it worth it? Should I fold, show my true colors? No, I couldn't. What would become of Harry if I was tortured, if he knew, if he tried to get to me, rescue me, protect me? No, it was up to me to do the protecting. For the greater good.

I raised my wand, prepared to close my eyes, grit my teeth, and just do it, when Professor Carrow stopped me. I was relieved at first, hoping this was just some clever hoax and that Draco would burst out laughing, wheezing something along the lines of, "I can't believe you were really gonna do it!"

"You've not unmasked him," he whispered, his voice full of malicious laughter.

I hesitated, my resolve dissolving as I reached forward, grabbing the top of the black hood, feeling the rough, canvas like material between my fingers as I pulled it lightly upwards, unsheathing my victim.

I gasped, seeing the familiar blue eyes and Gryffindor scarlet.

Neville looked numbly back at me, blood matted into his hair and trickling lightly across his forehead from when he had fallen early at the hands of my new boyfriend. He mouth was a firm line of resolution, he nodded, knowing what I had to do, knowing it was either him or both of us.

I raised my wand once more, my arm trembling notably.

"Cr-crucio," I stammered, a faint spark of red light issuing from my wand, hitting Neville and causing him to flinch as if stung by an irksome wasp.

"You need to mean them," the Professor whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my neck, causing me to jump. He nodded as I turned to meet his eyes as if to say, "Again, do it again, until you get it _right_."

I turned back to Neville, feeling the tears welling in my eyes, hot, angry, and helpless, just as I felt, as I blinked them back. I took a deep breath…

"Crucio," I stated firmly, my eyes shut tight against Neville shrieks of agony. I pulled back almost at once, knowing I had done it, knowing it would be sufficient, even just a "taster" as Professor Carrow called it. I had successfully produced the curse, earning a few rubies for the Gryffindor house glass, each gem with Neville's blood on them.

Neville slumped against the blackboard, falling to the floor, sweating and panting as if he'd run a marathon. He avoided my eyes as I tried to ignore the rocks in the pit of my stomach, turning and making my way shakily back down the aisle to my seat, which I fell into gratefully.

"See, dearest," Draco whispered, squeezing my shoulders, "Didn't I tell you we had so much to learn?"


	6. Chapter 6

Neville wasn't at lunch. He wasn't in charms either, and I had a sneaking suspicion my new table partner may be the cause.

I wanted to apologize, I wanted to plead his forgiveness, my ally, my strength, and _I_ broke him, there, in front of everyone, fueled by fear, stupid fear and its cold, smothering hands.

But would Neville accept? Of course he would, right? He knew it had to be done; he nodded for me to go ahead, he knew that he was protecting me, and in turn… I was protecting him? Yeah, because if it wasn't me that cast the curse than surely someone else would, surely it would have been worse under the hands of Crabbe, Goyle… Malfoy…

I bet they had a good laugh, the Death Eaters, rubbing shoulders with that hideous woman, Bellatrix LeStrange, of whom Neville's Gran told us that sad Christmas had tortured his parents into insanity. They were worse than death, almost as if they had suffered the Dementor's kiss; still alive but not living?

I remembered Neville's eyes full of longing as his mother tottered towards him, his look of sad understanding as she passed him the candy wrapper, watching as he shiftily, stealthily tucked it into his pocket and knowing that somewhere in his room, tucked in a far corner, was a shoe box of crumpled bubblegum wrappers.

And I'd used that curse on him.

"Ginny?" a voice bounced off the tiled floors and concrete walls of the girl's shower room.

I started, realizing I was lost in my thoughts, my guard down and I was as every girl never wanted to be found: vulnerable and naked.

I groped for my bathrobe, plunging my hand into the deep periwinkle pocket for my wand. I'd just grabbed hold of it when there came a knock on my stall.

"Ginny?" whispered the airy voice, barely audible above the hiss of the showerhead.

I pressed myself against the stall door, "Luna?"

"We should talk," she answered simply.

I nodded before realizing she couldn't see me, and turned to twist the taps and stem the flow of steamy water that I was hoping would wash this, all of this, away. I donned my robe, stowing my wand safely back in one of the front pockets, and opened the door.

"You could do with some wrackspurts," she nodded, handing me a towel.

"I thought you said they were a bad thing," I sighed, wrapping my hair up and out of the way.

She shook her head, "Sometimes it's better not to have to think."

"True," I sighed again, feeling mopey and hating it. I needed to pull myself together, I needed a plan… I needed to apologize to Neville.

"He understands," Luna blurted, as if reading my thoughts. She grabbed my hand and patted it lightly, "And I do, too."

"He told you?" I whispered, leaning in closer.

She nodded, pressing a finger to her lips as her eyes traveled around me.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Blood Traitor Queen herself," sneered an unsavory high pitched cackle.

As I wielded around I knew who the screech belonged to; I'd heard it a few too many times this semester.

"Parkinson," I nodded, taking in full account how hard it is to look defiant, or even superior, when you're in a bathroom and flip-flops, your hair wrapped in a towel mounted atop your head.

"I heard about your little _spell_ with Longbottom earlier," she jeered, causing her clan to erupt in derisive giggles, "You seem to have everyone convinced that you've switched sides, everyone convinced that you're no longer rooting for, oh, what are they calling him these days? Undesirable Number One? Thief, criminal, imposter… _Murderer_."

Her eyes glittered maliciously as she continued, "Everyone, but me."

I rolled my eyes in what I hoped would be a bored fashion and I wouldn't come off as stalling for time as long as I smiled while I did it, pretending her words bored me instead of rattled me.

"Really, Parkinson?" I laughed, "Is that the best you can come up with?"

She started for a moment, looking affronted as she tried to regain higher ground.

"It's not my fault Draco doesn't want you anymore. Sure, you were all buddy buddy and lovey lovey these past couple years, and sure, you probably thought you had him in the palm of your hands last semester, but you're all washed up, and it's me he wants now," I smiled cruelly, doing my best impersonation of her bubble-headed snob friends.

I saw her confidence slipping away, replaced by ugly hate as I voiced everything she had feared. It felt good, having the upper hand, fighting back for once, and making this my game, as I originally intended. I was sick of being played.

"Come on, Luna," I laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the door before my newly acquired assurance fizzled out like birthday candles drowned in their own wax.

"Oh, and Parkinson?" I called over my shoulder as we reached the door, "If you're really interested in winning him back, maybe you should try for a new look?"

"Colovaria," I muttered, flicking my wand her way, kicking off my flip-flops in preparation to run as she turned to face the nearest mirror, screams of fury erupting from her slight form as her usually long, sleek black mane transformed into fiery orange tresses.

I'd won this one, and the proof wouldn't wash out for days.


	7. Chapter 7

It's hard to appreciate a good get-away when half of it is spent slipping and sliding in wet flip-flops on sleek marble floors. I skidded to a halt at a crossroads of winding staircases.

"Your common room or mine?" I asked, unsure of where we would be able to seek solitude, and considering my fluffy robe and dripping hair that left fewer and fewer places to the list.

"Yours," she reasoned, "We'll need Neville if he's there."

"If he's speaking to me…" I grumbled, bounding up another set of staircases, my water logged shoes squelching with every step.

We tip toed down the corridor, eyes peeled for other students who may be spying, keeping look out, in case we arrived so they could run along to Draco… or even Pansy. Aside from knowing my schedule back to front, not only because it mirrored his, but because he didn't want me out of his sights for longer than necessary, was turning my faux "healthy" relationship into one of warden and prisoner. Fortunately for me, though, he was usually easier to evade than the Dementor's grasp… usually.

I peered around the final corridor, convinced that I was being paranoid, when I spotted Crabbe and Goyle camped out across from the Fat Lady.

"Shit," I hissed, pulling back at once, praying they hadn't seen me. I turned to Luna, "He's sent his henchmen; he's looking for me."

"The Room of Requirement," Luna said at once, "It's just around the other side of the castle."

I nodded, turning to follow her as I heard foot steps coming up behind us.

"Shit!" I hissed again, "They saw me. Run for it. Hopefully we can make it there before they see us."

We ran to the previous corner and down the following corridor, Luna panting at my side as I slipped and slid precariously on my squelchy rubbery soles.

"S'no good," I whispered, pushing her on in front of me as I kicked off my shoes behind a nearby suit of armor.

Luna reached the tapestry before I did, already on her second turn as I bolted down the corridor at a dead sprint. She made her third rotation and the door materialized in the rough stone walls.

"Quickly," she whispered, wrenching the entrance open and pulling me inside. We pressed it shut, both as lightly and as quickly as we could, leaning with our backs against the ornate door we listened with baited breathe.

"Are you sure they were following us?" she whispered at last.

I shook my head trying to remember. We heard footsteps coming to the mouth of the corridor, but they weren't running. Did they stop there, convinced themselves they saw nothing, and returned to their posts? Or did they pursue us, and in my haste I didn't hear their feet pounding after us? Surely, we didn't just run all that way, give ourselves a fright for nothing.

Catching my breath, I took in the room before us. It was a small room, similar in size to my bedroom at the Burrow, with soft lighting and mountains of soft, inviting pillows. The carpet felt plush and supple under my bare feet.

"A cozy place to talk," Luna smiled, heading for the nearest mountain of pillows and flopping down backwards onto them. She let out a light giggle as she sunk in.

I fell backwards onto a pile next to hers, rolling onto my side to my side as I asked, "So what are we going to talk about?"

"You're going to talk. I need to hear it straight from the hippogriff's mouth," she grabbed a pillow, and resting it across her knees she settled in.

"Well, I'm dating Malfoy," I blurted, barely able to repressed a shudder. Where else to go from here? She knew it all, and there was nothing left to say.

She nodded for me to continue, unaware, as Luna usually was, of the awkward pause in the conversation.

"And that's it," I wanted to say, I intended to say, but before I knew it there were other words spewing from me, and if they weren't so closely linked to how I was actually feeling I would have sworn someone else was saying them.

"I feel so trapped, Luna," I whispered, even though no one could hear us, "If I slip up, make one false move… And Harry's out there, finding a way to defeat Vol-, I mean, well, you know what I mean, and how could I do this to him? Betray him?"

And suddenly I remembered another person I'd wronged, "And Neville!" I whined, "How could I do that to Neville? That first night he was there for me, he said we'd fight it out together, that he'd help anyway he could and the next day he turns up a bloodied lump and has me to thank for it. Why don't I just drive the knife in a little deeper, huh?"

I ran my fingers through my damp, knotted hair, frustrated at the brick walls I was facing at every turn.

"That wasn't your fault, Ginny," Luna replied sternly.

"It was," I moaned, miserable in my own self pity, "I cast that spell. I… I _tortured_ him, Luna. He'll never forgive me. And to make matter worse, to top it off with a cherry, it that was second time that day, before lunch even, that Neville had been hurt because of me."

"Neville told me about the library, how Draco had reacted, and that's more than likely why he's hiding out right now; he doesn't want to do any more harm, to your or himself."

"But how could I have been so stupid as to not think that…"

"Ginny Weasley, you cut that out right now!" Luna snapped. My eyes grew wide as I stared into Luna's hardened expression. Luna, who was light, airy, and calm. Luna, who had never raised her voice to a teasing boy or a cruelly giggling girl. Luna, who was shouting at me now, and in that shock of hearing her floaty voice turn hard and commanding, I could have forgotten why we were here.

"Now," her voice regaining its feather light demeanor, "You need to think logically."

Here I was getting a lecture on logic from Loony Lovegood. I shook my head, unsure what she meant or where this was going.

"Do you really think you can predict the future or that you should be faulted because you can't? How would you know that Draco would react that way to seeing you and Neville in the library? How were you to know he'd give a damn about you in this relationship when he is donning it just for show anyhow?"

She was right, and I was so blind I didn't see it. Why did he care, anyway? Wasn't I just some dirty blood traitor? Who was he to turn jealous and overbearing? And here he was, treating this façade like it was real, like we were actually dating and he….

"Oh my God," I whispered, my eyes as wide as when Luna had begun shouting. She gave me a knowing look that quite clearly said, "Got there at last, have you?" It was so Hermione-ish I almost smiled if it weren't for the intense ache I felt in remembering how much I missed her, him, them.

"He's treating it like it's real?" my voice depressed to a whisper under all of the shock it held. "But it doesn't make sense. He was the one who thought this whole charade up, he's the one who sought to put on a show, he's the one who…"

"Bashed in Neville's head when he caught you two alone in the library and made you curse him later in front of everyone to show your allegiance?" Luna finished for me.

I shook my head repeatedly, running my hands through my hair. To anyone else I'd look like a mad hag, but to Luna I merely looked as though I were fending off Wrackspurts.

"It just doesn't make sense to me, Luna," I whispered after a time, "I mean, what's in it for him, what is there to gain from all of this?"

"I think the better question is what does he stand to lose?"


	8. Chapter 8

I was kidding myself if I said that it was now, more than ever, that I had to play my part. And I was selfish if I said it was to get to the bottom of this mystery over protecting Harry, saving the cause, and reanimating hope.

I needed to pull myself together, put on a show, put on the show, the one that would save my life, but more importantly, save Harry's.

I wasn't surprised to see Malfoy waiting for me in the corridor, leaning against the rough stone walls across from the Room of Requirement as we exited, my flip-flops dangling in his hand.

We fed him a story about how we were hiding from Pansy, thinking maybe she sent Crabbe and Goyle looking for us, or rather me, at the Fat Lady. He smiled good naturedly, laughing when he said that, yes, Pansy was rather upset, but he thought our prank was all in good show. I could tell he liked the idea of us fighting over him, and it didn't hurt that I almost ran to his side upon seeing him, resting my head against his chest while we regaled him about out flighty night.

We bade Luna goodnight as Draco walked me back to Gryffindor tower, his arm around my shoulders, and though I knew I should have wound mine around his waist I couldn't make myself do it. He didn't seem to mind, or notice for that matter, and any discrepancy, any lull in show was forgotten when I pressed a light kiss to his cheek before crawling through the portrait hole and landing in the sanctity of Gryffindor common room.

Though it was hardly past curfew the plush armchairs and couches were vacant, the study tables were empty, and the fire was dwindling. Against my hopes, Neville was no where in sight, though if I was honest with myself I hadn't expected him to be.

My feet dragged on the way up the steps to my dormitory, dreading the hours I would lie awake with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. Though it was against the rules, and would have appeared suspicious, especially under Draco's watchful eye, I would have liked to sneak Luna back up here with me. Surely her dorm was just as empty as mine.

Before too late I did my best to roll over and push all the thoughts from my head. I need my sleep; I had a show to put on tomorrow and that day after that, and the day after that. I'd have to pick up the bad habit I'd hope to discard, and freshen up my act with a few new tricks. A kiss here and look there would only last me so far this time; this wasn't a firecracker that I could allow to fizzle out or one of Fred and George's wet starts that could cause everything to go up in flame. I couldn't mess up, I couldn't slip; it had to be as close to perfect as I could get it. After all, you never know who's watching.

* * *

><p>I left my dorm late the next morning, knowing that Draco would find me regardless of where I snuck off to, so I decided that a quick breakfast before classes was the most inconspicuous way to start the day. The common room was nearly empty, and I was on my way to the portrait hole when a familiar figure looming over the announcement board stopped me dead in my tracks causing a third year to run into me.<p>

"Sorry," I muttered, hastily grabbing his books from where they'd fallen to the floor and thrusting them into his hands, almost running the four feet to the notice board in my haste to talk to him.

I leaned across him in a premise of interest over the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend, noting the shock that registered on his face as I momentarily obscured his view of the Herbology club, Botany Buds, posting.

"Are we still…?" I whispered, unsure how to continue. Cool? Friends? Fighting? I let me sentence dangle, my fallen words masked by my efforts in tearing off a corner of the Goblestones Club flyer and copying down the Hogsmeade dates.

He regained his composure, checking over his shoulder, before turning back and whispering, "Gin, you know I…"

The portrait opened and a gaggle of students crawled through, laughing at a joke one of them said as they grabbed their bags from the study tables where they'd left them the night before.

Neville coughed, swallowing his words, and made to turn around, but not before he grabbed my quill and hastily scrawled something in the corner of the Quidditch Try-Outs notice. He hurried to the portrait hole and was lost from sight.

I felt my hopes sink as Neville rushed away from me. I turned back to the notice board, crumpling the Hogsmeade's dates I had copied during my ruse, and throwing them half heartedly at the fire grate, my eyes searching for the scribble Neville had taken my pen for.

I easily found the Try-Outs notice, noting with alarm that they were approaching faster than I had anticipated, having practically forgot about them all together, when I noted his squiggle, untidy and hardly legible. I squinted at it in my effort to decipher it when in a moment it became clear, I could have smacked myself in the forehead for not realizing it sooner, but than again hope was not something I was looking for.

It was two capital cursive letters, crushed together and surrounded by a wobbly circle that hooked from the second initial. DA. Dumbledore's Army. It was on, we were fighting, and with Luna by my side and Neville in the wings, I took comfort in that I wasn't alone.

I tore the corner of the poster, tucking the jagged triangle shaped parchment into my bag, and hurried after him, excited for the first time in days, an excitement that nothing could take from me.

At least, I hoped.

* * *

><p>He was waiting for me in the Great Hall, watching as I sauntered past, the old routine. Parkinson and her lot were glaring daggers at me, her hair jet black and sleek again, a trick I later overheard she pulled off with a long night in the showers and a few bottles of calligraphy ink.<p>

I waggled my fingers at Draco, that girlie wave that makes me want to vomit but Lavender was known to specialize in, a winning smile on my face. He winked in return, and I couldn't help but hold back at laugh at this imposter Casanova.

Neville was easily two benches down from me; I'd past him without a backward glance, but couldn't help meeting his eyes when I'd pulled myself up to the table, reaching for the porridge and orange juice with both hands. Our eyes continued to flit back and forth to one another, and every movement felt covert and coded.

"Morning, Darling," whispered an all too familiar drawl from behind me.

I started, knocking my goblet of orange juice sideways, the liquid seeping down the polished wood surface.

"Oh!" I forced a shaky laughed, "Oh, Draco! You gave me quite a start!" I laughed again, turning to face him, looking up into his pale face which smiled lightly down at me.

With a flick of his wand the juice was gone, the goblet was righted, the incident forgotten. He slid onto the bench beside me, his back leaning against the table.

"How's your morning been?" I asked, my eyes drifting momentarily past him, back to Neville, who was determinedly staring down his bacon and eggs. Small talk was normal in a force relationship, right?

"The usual," he shrugged, but he was smiling behind his boredom, "I was hoping to…"

I smiled as he talked, relieved things were going as well. This would be the hard part, the relationship part. Dark corners, empty classrooms, the flicker of candle light, coy smiles and playful kisses would be easy, they were old news, they were the routine that I had honed and perfected in the days I'd hoped would have been long forgotten. Small talk was easy enough, but emotions, feelings, thoughts, dreams, opinions. That would be harder, that would be forced. Of course, it had been easy with Harry, of whom I'd shared years of my life, my love of Quidditch, my preference for Mom's treacle tart, my hatred of essays, yet my enjoyment of practical lessons. Ron never knew, and Hermione did her best to help us keep it from him, but Harry and I would spend hours curled up on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, backs leaning against couch cushions in front of the dwindling fire, butter-beers in hand and talking in whispers because anything else sounded unnaturally loud in this close setting, his arm around my shoulder, and a new feelings of butterflies dancing in my stomach when he would lean in to kiss me.

"But I think we should ditch, don't you?" Draco asked, pulling me back as he leaned towards me, his eyes glinting.

I giggled as if I had been paying attention while trying to remember what day it was and what class it was that I would be missing.

"It's the first one of the year!" I laughed, hating how bubbly this person was that I was imitating, "We can't miss the first one of the year!"

"Sure we can, Darling. Nothing important ever happens in the first lesson of the year, well yesterday excepting," he laughed, turning to watch Neville's retreating figure as he rushed from the hall with jittery movements.

"Oh, don't look like that, Darling," he cooed, seeing the look on my face, "He's fine, I'm sure. The Longbottoms are a tough hold out against the cruciatus, and we have to practice our spells some how. Why not on those who are wrong doers?"

Wrong doers, indeed. I swallowed hard, nodding. This is where Harry would agree with me, maybe even cheer if I'd reached out and slapped the confidence off of Malfoy's face, leaving an angry red welt across his pale, perfect cheeks.

"Back to ditching," he purred, his hand sliding onto my thigh under the table. It was harder to laugh and lean back into him, close enough to kiss before pulling away and biting my lip, an old trick that got them every time, when I was so disgusted. But he didn't notice, and it worked like a charm.

"Not this one," I sighed, "It's one of my favorite courses." My brain was still fretting behind the scenes, trying to remember what I had proposed to love, hopefully it wasn't Muggle Studies.

His face fell a little, and for some reason I found myself bending.

"But I think we have Divination this afternoon, and I don't foresee myself going to that," I winked.

He smirked and Merlin help me, he did look sexy, "What are you thinking we should occupy our open afternoon with?"

I had every idea what he thought we should occupy our afternoon with, his hand roving from my knee to just under the edges of my skirt.

"It's nice out, maybe one of the last nice days we'll have this semester. Outside on the grounds?" I asked, keen to keep myself out of his bedroom for as long as possible.

I could tell it wasn't his idle afternoon, but he smiled none the less, "Sounds great."

"Good!" I smiled, happy that he was happy and hating myself for it, as I leaned in to give him a quick kiss before grabbing my bag and swinging myself off the bench. He took my hand as he stood and for a fleeting second I had fooled myself into thinking this would be easier than I thought.

I was hating a lot of things this morning, but my false hope took to the top of the list. I pushed it away as I squeezed his hand, "Lead the way!"


	9. Chapter 9

The double lesson of potions, the class I'd deemed to be my favorite, slid past faster than I could have anticipated as Slughorn droned about the properties of Amortencia, taking us each in turn to note the characteristic smoke rings, the signature scents that vary from classmate to classmate. I smelt the apple orchards from home, the fresh springs grass of the Quidditch pitch, and…

I stopped myself, suddenly aware of how close my betrayal was, his chest pressed into my back as he leaned in to observe the distinctive smoke patterns himself. I glanced over my shoulder at him. He caught my eye and smiled, before returning his attentions to the pearly sheen of the bubbling potion.

"Haven't you already seen Amortencia?" I whispered over my shoulder, remembering Hermione's recollection of the many potions they'd encountered, the lucky Felix Felicis being the prize for their knowledge and skill.

"Last year," he nodded, "But only then. Still fascinates me, the power it can have, unwavering devotion."

He shook his head, letting out a long, low breath, his eyes alive with weakly restrained want and longing. I turned away, swallowing hard, as I jotted rapid notes on the potion, practically taking the words from Slughorn's mouth to my parchment, practically writing the essay I knew he'd assign at the end of the lesson. Sure enough he did, one roll of parchment. I considered my homework already finished, but took the time and extra effort marking it down in my homework planner, feeling Draco's eager, expectant eyes on me as our fellow students trickled from the classroom in twos and threes.

Draco slid his arm around my waist, the warm weight of which caused me to squirm slightly though I did my best to hide it. I turned to smile at him, shouldering my bag, knocking his hold loose in the progress.

"Still on for this afternoon?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

Suddenly I wanted to get away from him, needed to be away from him, but knew that his inquiry about our plans was more than polite interest, more than just checking the agenda. He was reminding me what I'd agreed to, and in turn reminding me there was no backing out.

"Of course," I forced a smiled, "I just need to, ah, kip up to the common room, drop off my bag. I don't, uh, want to haul it with me, with us, around the grounds."

Could he see through my faltering, my stuttering attempt to buy time, to escape? This should be easy for me; it's not like I'd never done anything I didn't want to before. I could beat this, I could overcome it, I could persevere. But thinking back, all those kisses, caresses, flirty smiles, and seductive glances; I wanted them, I wasn't adverse to them, not like now.

If anything I felt worse, the stinging guilt of my cheating past being overlapped by my deceitful present.

He stepped closer and I was sure he saw through me. He ran his hands down my back, pushing my bag aside, resting them lightly on my hips. He looked away, then back again, his grey eyes locking on mine, looking almost pale blue, almost. Was he embarrassed? Nervous?

"Ginny, we…" he began, but stopped. The softness in his voice, the way he said my name, light and loving. Shock rippled through me at this softer side of him I never could have imagined.

He cleared his throat, regaining composure, his familiar demeanor, "I'll meet you in the courtyard then, in fifteen minutes."

The switch was immediate, the softness, the reserve; gone. I nodded as he took my hand, leading me through the dark tunnels of the dungeon corridors and towards the opening of the Grand Staircase.

"Fifteen minutes," he smiled, his eyes steely once more. I nodded, turning and running my way up the marble steps.

Once out of sight I could have slowed to a walk, I could have taken my merry time, expanding the minutes that would separate the inevitable. But I kept running, kept putting space between us, corridor after corridor, hoping to fight the nausea from crawling its way up my throat.

Was I over reacting? Was my mind running wild, taking my imagination away with it? What would he be expecting on this "date"? Would it be more than I was willing to offer, not that I'd offered much willingly in this perverse performance?

My stomach tumbled uneasily. This wasn't a position I wanted to be in. I liked having the upper-hand, controlling when and where my kisses landed. This felt all wrong, like a part I did know how to play, and it wasn't helped that it was the only one I never saw myself casted in.

But this was nonsense. I could do this. The ball was in my court; this was my game even if it was played on his field. I could do this, shut my eyes, grit my teeth, and do this. I could do this, right?

I rounded a corner, careening into the person on the other side, causing the two of us to tumble forward onto the cold, unforgiving marble.

"Sorry," I muttered to the figure that, in my impetus, I had landed on. He groaned under the combined weight of a frantic sixth year Gryffindor girl and her bulging bag as I pushed myself up, having to use his back to gain my footing, pushing off of him, trying to be as gentle as possible.

Once on my feet, I shouldered my bag, hurrying towards the portrait hole.

"I really am sorry!" I called over my shoulder, "I'm just… Neville?"

I stopped suddenly, the momentum of my bag still pulling me towards the portrait hole, causing my body to sway as I fought against it.

He got roughly to his feet, massaging an elbow as he did so. He shrugged, his eyes downcast, still unable to speak to me. Like a puppy who'd been smacked in a fit of rage, at near two meters tall, six foot two inches, Neville Longbottom tried to looked small.

I wanted to hug him, I wanted to comfort him, and I was already two steps towards him when I stopped again. It had already been proven that this corridor had eyes. I glanced around quickly, taking in the vacant hallway, lost of students save for Neville and myself.

I cleared my throat, hoping he would look up, but his eyes remained glued to the floor as he collected his lone book. I coughed again, louder, and still his eyes studied the dusty marble Filch fought so hard to keep clean. I huffed exasperatedly before clearing my throat again in a ridiculous long, drawn out, impossibly realistic fashion.

He raised his head, cocking an eyebrow at me. I rolled my eyes at him, shaking my head slightly before gesturing to the portrait hole. I began walking slowly backwards, my eyes still wide, hoping he would follow me, but it wasn't until I had nearly backed into the Fat Lady that he even started forward.

I turned and muttered the password, hastening through the portrait hole and across the common room to dispose of my bag near the empty fire-grate. Neville ambled through the portrait hole, taking what my brother Fred liked to call "his sweet ass time". I rushed forward, grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him into the stairwell for the boy's dormitories.

"Gin, what the…?" he began, but I cut across him, my deadline was bleeding thin and while normally I wouldn't have minded, pressing the patience of the Slytherin Prince, I had a plan, and to pull it off I had to be on my best behavior, whatever that meant.

"Neville, do you still have you DA coin?" I rushed in an urgent whisper, continuing before he could answer, "Hail Luna, we need to meet in the Room of Requirement tonight, around six, we need to plan, we've gotta get back up on the hippogriff, no more playing on the sidelines. This is my life, our lives, and I refused to be benched."

I wondered vaguely if Neville had any hint of the sports references I was making, but pushed on none the less, "Neville, we've got to do something. We said we would, that day in the library, we said we'd fight, for Harry… for us. I didn't think it would be this hard either, and I'm sure we've only had a taster of what's to come," my fingers lightly brushed the lavender ring around his eyes, the yellowing bruise invading his hairline, "but we can't give up now, right?"

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, before taking my hand and giving it a squeeze, "Of course not, Gin, we won't give up. Dumbledore's Army."

"Room of Requirement, six o'clock," I whispered, pushing past him, barreling through the portrait hole and down the corridor towards the Grand Staircase. With any luck Neville was signaling Luna right now, with any luck she still had her coin, and with any luck our plan would be underway within a few days, weeks at most. But there was a flaw in the plan: I was never one to make my own luck.

* * *

><p>True to his word, he was awaiting me just outside the oaken doors, the courtyard shinning with afternoon light, the sky a pale forget-me-not blue that still clung to summer.<p>

I put on my best face, smiling down at him as I descended the stone steps, sauntering to where he was awaiting me, leaning against a stone column, the sunlight shining on his pale blonde hair. I almost half expected his cronies to double as our chaperones, but with a jerk of my stomach I remembered how private and intimate the vast grounds could be. He'd probably left the sitters at home.

He reached for my hand as I drew nearer, taking it lightly, his long, delicate fingers intertwining with mine, as we crossed under the stone archways and towards the glassy lake.

Conversation would have felt forced, but I was sure he was comfortable in his commanding role over my part as adoring girlfriend. It we were old, wizened and wrinkly, we could pull off comfortable silences, loving smiles in the calm breeze, light squeezes with out hands, our code for "I love you". But we weren't any of those things, and the silence continued as we drew closer to the lake's shore.

With a jolt of my stomach I recognized the beech we were headed for, the familiar crook in its branches, warped and twisted with age. The same beech Harry and I had spent the warm afternoons pretending to study under, the one he'd told me was a favorite of his dad's, where he'd taken his mother. I'd never asked how Harry knew, assuming Sirius or Lupin had told him, but none the less, those crooked branches, the peeling white bark, it would have felt cruel, like casting salt in the wound.

"How about that maple?" I asked, smiling, pointing to a huge, woody tree near the lake's edge, it's vast branches towering over surrounding seedlings, begging for delicious sunlight in its shadow.

"It's awfully concealed," he pointed out, and I wondered if he meant anything by it. Yet, I shrugged, heading forward, releasing his hand, and plopping onto a sunny patch where the leaves parted, smiling at the warmth of the grass.

I looked up at him expectantly, trying to look hopeful that he would join me on the grass. He did so, gracefully, stretching his long legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands, his face turn up towards the warmth of the sun. He looked at peace as he leanded towards me, a smile playing on his lips as he reached across, tucking my hair behind my ear, his fingers tracing my jaw, holding my chin between his thumb and two middle fingers.

He cocked his head slightly to the side, his smile polite as if he were studying me. I would have felt loving, endearing if I weren't so worried as where we were going next.

"Your hair really is radiant," he said, pulling me from my reverie.

"Really?" I asked, hating how insecure it made me sound, "Uh, thanks."

This was the short of exchange I would have expected to be followed by a kiss, a long one that was light, gentle, still new and hopeful, but not imposing and demanding. One that you leaned into, refused to break, and when it did end, when it did break, you sought for another, never wanting to come up from it.

I braced myself, expecting his kiss, practically our first since the carriage ride, but it didn't come. I relaxed, hating the anxiety bubbling in my stomach, hating how wrong this felt, but even more than all that, I hated how I hadn't taken charge, seized the upper hand, took control. Here I was playing scared and timid. I was Ginerva Weasley, I grew up with six older brothers and a lifetime of teasing, practical jokes, and put downs. I was anything, but scared and timid.

His fingers slipped slightly, breaking the moment. I plunged forward, placing my hands on either side of his face as I pulled him nearer, planting a kiss on his lips that neither of us could back away from. We broke apart and I drew back slightly, blushing at my resolution. Slowly, I let my hands fall away, embarrassed at the rookie move. No one but soap stars cup both cheeks when they kiss. Could he tell that I'd had to pump myself up for it, that it was then or never and never didn't play well into my plans?

I regained composure before he did, remembering a few of my old moves, and choosing the one I know he'd take to best.

As he opened his mouth to speak I slid my hand up his shoulder and to the back of his head, my fingers laying lightly against the back of his neck, my thumb resting just behind his ear. I closed my eyes, leaning in closer as I slid my other hand up his stomach, resting it lightly on his chest as our lips met once more, a move that spoke to the "man's man" in anyone.

By sliding my hand around to his back, I pulled his chest closer to mine, pulling him towards me. His hand slid up my thigh, past my hip but under my blouse, resting on the small of my back. I gasped at the unexpected caress of his finger tips against my bare skin.

Taking advantage of my surprise, his kisses drifted from my parted lips, down my cheek, and along my jaw-line, his hand traveling from the small of my back up my side, his thumb pressing against the underwire of my bra. As I had suspected, it wasn't the first time Draco Malfoy had played this part.

I emitted a light sigh, a half moan, as he began kissing my neck; an utterance that in its short, stifled duration would appear accidental, as if I had been caught on the throes of the moment.

Emboldened by my respire, his lips moved across my neck with a greater vigor, his kisses becoming wet and sloppy, his fingers clenching as he pulled me ever nearer, our chests already pressed together, his thumb dancing against my skin, pushing up under the thin cloth of my brassiere . I closed my eyes, biting down on my lip to prevent any real sighs from issuing forth.

I was ridden with guilt, rocked with shame. How could I be doing this? I wanted to pry him from me, push him off, run back up the grounds to the castle, take a scalding shower, and wake up tomorrow hoping it had all been an inappropriate dream.

I knew I couldn't do that. I knew, at least for now, in the arms of Draco Malfoy was where I had to stay, as perverse as it sounds, for Harry. I gave it a half-assed effort, but he didn't seem to notice. As long as I ran my fingers through his hair, ran my tongue along his lips, and praises his kisses, he wouldn't notice.

* * *

><p>It was nearing six when I rounded the corridor on the seventh floor, my face feeling red and raw, my body feeling pawed at and uncomfortable, and, needless to say, my hair was a mess. I wanted nothing more than a shower and to sneak down to the kitchens, having missed lunch and currently missing dinner. I'd told my darling dearest that I was too tired after our lovely afternoon on the grounds, false, and that I wanted to take a shower, true, start my homework, already did it, and go to bed, true. It would only feed into his ego that an afternoon spent snogging Draco Malfoy was enough to fulfill any girl's dreams.<p>

As I approached the Room of Requirement, a small round door appeared, not unlike that of the of the Gryffindor portrait hole. I pulled at the handle, like pulling a cork from a bottle, and crawled through landing in a room not until the one Luna and I had found ourselves in the other day.

Neville and Luna were waiting for me, Neville looking amiss among the soft, cuddly piles of pillows, with a tureen of butter-beer and a small stack of sandwiches.

"Eff yes, food!" I rejoiced, sounding more like Ron than I intended to as I plopped onto a pile of pillows, grabbing at least two sandwiches to cuddle up with.

"We figured you'd be hungry," Luna smile serenly.

"You figured right!" I muttered through a mouth of turkey and cheese, Luna and Neville tucking into a sandwich each themselves.

Silence followed as we chewed, broken by the occasional sip and refill of butter-beer. I was tucking into my second sandwich when Neville spoke up.

"Erm, well, we have Luna," he mumbled, stating the obvious, "And, well, she;s agreed to help us." Again obvious.

"Neville has filled me in on the matter of the sword," Luna announced, and I was thankful for the efficient summarization born and bred into every Ravenclaw, "I agree that Harry more than likely broke into the Ministry to obtain the sword, of which Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister and alleged vampire, reneged upon the will of Headmaster Dumbledore in which he awarded the sword to Harry."

"Spoken like an essay," I laughed, missing Hermione in that moment and how even she couldn't deny Luna's professional, down-to-earth demeanor, that is given the…

"Vampire?" Neville asked, and I remembered he wasn't an attendee, more of a server, at Slughorn's Christmas gala last year.

"Oh yes, Daddy says that…" Luna began.

"We need to break into Snape's office," I whispered, dropping my voice despite the sound proof walls.

"The question is, how?" Neville asked, again, stating the obvious, as he turned to Luna.

"We enter, of course," she answered simple.

"Yes, but Luna, how do we enter the Headmaster's office?" Neville replied, confusion bubbling to the surface, hinted with panic, "What if he sees us? What is he's in there? What if…?"

"We need the password," I affirmed, Luna nodded, "And careful planning."

"How do we get the password?" Neville posed, setting up the work we would need weeks and weeks to bring together.

"There in lies the question," I shrugged, "We either get it by stealth, or by pain."

The silence that followed confirmed what we all knew: either we listen at keyholes, hide behind tapestries and statues hoping to hear the password and report back, or we do something, something bad, something that merits being taken to the Headmaster's office for punishment, and risks being taken out on a gurney.

Luna and I agreed to stealth, knowing that without Harry's invisibility cloak it would be a miracle in itself if we even got close enough to hear the password. Neville nodded along, but something beneath his visage gave way to the ruse he was playing. It went right over Luna's head, right under her nose, but I could see it, I could tell. I knew what he was planning, and with the risks we were all taking, I should have stopped him. I couldn't have imagined it would have been that bad, as bad as it was, and possibly as bad as it could have been.

We would wait weeks with baited breath, sliding around corners and logging all possibilities. Meanwhile, in the blind spot of my ignorance, Neville was saving himself, pumping himself up, like when you know the water's too cold and you count to three repeatedly, amping yourself up to take the harsh environment that will squeeze the breath from your lungs, pinch every nerve, pull the screams from your vocal chords like a vicious harp concerto. At least until you came up for air. But where we were going, where Neville was going, who knew when you could come up for air. It would be like drowning on dry land.

I hoped he wouldn't, but I knew better than to hope. Neville chose pain.


	10. Chapter 10

It was worse than I would have thought, harsher than I could have imagined. The gurney floated from the Headmaster's office, past the tapestry behind which Luna and I hid, arms around each other, fearful. His face was bloodied and broken; it was ten fold the bruises I was sporting from this sadistic regime. There was an obvious gash across his temple, stretching into his forehead above his right eye brow. His left eye looked like it might be swollen shut. His arm hung at an awkward angle, like it must be broken. They'd have to call his Gran; he'd be in the Hospital Wing for weeks.

If this were any other circumstance, Luna would have probed me for answers, as we did with each other at the end of every day, looking to be closer to entering Snape's office, taking the sword. But she was there. She saw it all, who could have missed it?

* * *

><p>It was near two weeks after our meeting in the Room of Requirement. I'd spent many an afternoon lip locked with Draco on the sweeping lawns of Hogwart's ground, but preferring the discretion of our distant maple. Not that discretion was key, oh no. Everyone knew far and wide to avoid the lake's edge when Mr. Malfoy and his lady love with the radiant hair were seen strolling through the courtyard.<p>

It was early still, even before the post owls had arrived, but the Great Hall was near full with students, buzzing, gossiping, breaking their fast over tureens of porridge and mounds of bacon and eggs.

I was making eyes at my Slytherin Prince from across the hall, batting my lashes and biting my lip as I ignored my toast, my fight against the bubbling nausea that typically threatened to invade situations like these was at a bare minimum. It was the same old routine, but he went wild for it. Either I was getting used to this or it was getting easier, and neither option was preferable.

He rose from the sea of green, the Malfoy smirk playing on his lips, as he meandered across the brainy blues and the yielding yellows towards the crimson brave, towards this red head in particular. It was like a morning ritual, a true gentleman to meet me at my table, escort me to class. However, I bet few girls wished they could switch out the rich, good looking prince for the dorky misfit with messy hair and tilted glasses.

But this morning, this morning was different.

My eyes on Malfoy, I never saw him coming until he was practically on top of me.

"Ginny!" Neville exclaimed.

I was on my feet in a moment, facing him, frantic.

"Neville, what are you doing?" I hissed, bewildered, my eyes darting between the towering Gryffindor and my hot-tempered boyfriend, his face already twisting with rage.

"Ginny, you know this is the only way," he continued, and perhaps the real meaning only made sense to me for I stepped back, tripping over my bag, slipping slightly.

"Neville, no! Don't!" I pleaded, pulling my foot loose from my bag strap.

He turned to face Draco, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead, determination evident in the thin line of his mouth as he grit his teeth, his final count to three.

I'll never know what Neville saw in those steely eyes, that harsh glare, that pushed him forward, but before I knew it his hands were on my shoulders, his fingers pressing into the flesh of my upper arms. I cried out slightly, shocked by the unexpected pain.

"Ginny, I…" he began, his nerve faltering. My mind twirled wildly, thinking if we could still come back from this, if there was time. Could I push him off, act affronted as I kick him away in a pure Malfoy imitation, linking arms with my pureblood prince, and leave Neville to a moderate harassing by the cronies? But I couldn't move. I was frozen, unbelieving. Surely _this_ wasn't how he was going about things. It was mental, it was ludicrous, but was it crazy enough to work?

"Neville," I whimpered, fighting the burn in my eyes, the tears threatening to fall as Neville sought to sacrifice himself at my hands, again, "Neville, don't. Just turn around, just walk away. Just run, Neville, run. You don't want to…"

Malfoy was charging forward, he was mere feet away, he was reaching for his wand, the hilt was in his hand, and he was drawing it, pointing it.

Neville's grip tightened, I was sure he'd leave bruises, and, as unintentional as they were, they would only help his cause. He was whispering something to me, something unintelligible, undecipherable amidst Draco's shrieks of fury. He was leaning forward, his eyes shut tight, his fingers digging into my skin, and with eyes wide I watched as he drew nearer and nearer, as though in slow motion until his lips were firm on mine, shut tight in a grimace of determination.

It was over in a second. He released me and I stumbled backwards, tears welling in my eyes. Our eyes met and for a moment he look relieved, as if he couldn't believed he pulled it off. And then Malfoy's right hook collided with his face.

The teachers were on us in a moment, but not before I'd made the idiotic, yet human, mistake of lunging forward, pulling back Malfoy's arm to prevent him from delivering another fist into Neville's jaw.

"Draco, don't!" I cried, pulling him back from where he leered over Neville, who'd fallen backwards, taking a section of the table with him, his shirt stained with splatters of jam and splashes of pumpkin juice.

"You!" he shrieked, turning on me, "How could you?"

"Draco, I didn't! I didn't know what he was going to do, honest!" I pleaded as he yanked his arm free of my grasp, back-handing me in the process.

Whether he meant to or it came by accident; it stung, it burned, it hurt. The fire in his eyes could blind any man from reality, and as he turned back to Neville, rage pinking his face, plucking at his muscles, he didn't see the tears, only two, that fell from my eyes, sliding down my face and onto the smarting sting of my left cheek that was quickly reddening.

I staggered backwards; my hand flying to my cheek, covering the inaudible gasp that had inadvertently issued forth as well as the stinging welt pulsed under my skin.

I glanced around the awe-stricken crowd, mouths gaping, eyes bugging out of their heads. All save one. Pansy Parkinson's eyes bore into me, looking dead and dull, like this was a film she'd seen too many times before. I expected her smile to be triumphant and her guffaws to be gloating. She was neither, and it might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn I saw her shake her head, more disappointed than disbelieving, before she looked away from the scene, as if an invisible director had yelled "cut", a film she'd seen too many times before, and no doubt knew exactly how it would end.

"That makes one of us," I found myself thinking as I was brushed aside by Professor McGonagall who was pushing past towards the incident at hand, Aymcus Carrow and Professor Sprout following at her heels, that latter looking concerned while the former looked positively gleeful.

"Mister Malfoy! What, can I ask, do you think you're doing?" she bellowed, her mouth a thin line of anger, her eyebrows drawn into a harsh angle.

"It looks like…" Amycus began, his voice slick and oily, his eyes wide and jubilant as if Christmas had come early.

"I know exactly what it looks like!" McGonagall cut across, "But what I would like to know is why!"

Draco righted himself, pulling on his lapels as he did so, straightening his robes, slicking back his hair.

"Longbottom kissed my girlfriend, ma'am," he replied, coolly, more than likely fully aware of how juvenile the situation appeared when spoken aloud.

McGonagall's hawkeyes swept the scene, taking in the gawking students leaning over their toast to get a better look at the train wreck at hand to Malfoy standing over a wordless Neville, his jaw line purpling by the minute, and finally over her shoulder to where I stood, my face feeling so hot I could only guess at what shade of red it resembled, my own swelling cheek hidden under my protective hand, a few sparse tears glistening my cheeks.

"And you hit him?" McGonagall snapped, "Resorting to muggle dueling over an incident as frivolous as this? I have seen many things in my countless years here, but none so stupid and ill conceived as fist thrown over a girl!"

Draco's jaw was set, his teeth clenched, his right arm twitching as if eager to take hold of the wand he'd earlier abandoned in his haste.

"Wa'n't like that, though," Amycus crooned, a devilish smile playing upon his lips, "Wa'n't it, _Longbottom?_"

I watched as Neville's eyes grew in horror. Was this part of his plan, or had everything gone rogue? Could you really predict how cruel the hands in power would be? Had it gone too far? Was there hope of any reconciliation or was there no return from the brink on which he teetered?

"What do you mean?" McGonagall snapped.

"I saw what happ'n'd, I did. It was Longbottom there who threw the firs' punch. Malfoy 'ere was only defendin' 'imself. Longbottom was seekin' to curse 'im, an unforgivable by the looks of it," he smiled, his eyes glinting with a malice I was becoming all too familiar with.

"Absurd!" McGonagall shouted, "Malfoy hasn't a scratch on him. And at any rate, I've had Longbottom in my house these past six years and save for an incident in his first year, he has never once come up for dueling or detentions. I don't believe it!"

"I agree with Minerva," Professor Sprout put in, twisting and untwisting her dirt covered fingers, "Longbottom's always gotten top marks in my class; never was a problem. I couldn't imagine he would…"

"Don't matter what you'll be believin'!" Amycus yelled, "It'll be my words against yours an' I know whose the Headmas'er'll be trustin'!" He jabbed a finger into his own chest, leaning into McGonagall who stood rigid, angrier than I'd ever seen her, staring down at him as if he was something unsightly she had trodden upon and now couldn't loosen from her shoe.

"What's going on here?" came the deep drawling voice of our new Headmaster. Only few times had I seen him at meals since the Welcoming Feast. He hardly appeared the pleased head I would have imagined him to be, sitting upon the throne he didn't deserve, ruling over the students who were once loved by the man he murdered.

"You can run 'long now if there be nothin' more you'd like to say," Amycus hissed at McGonagall, his brow hardened, a sarcastic smile playing upon his lips.

"Oh there are plenty of things I would like to say!" McGonagall shot back, before turning and shouting orders at the students, "And don't you all have classes to attend? Anyone late to my class can count themselves ten points down in the running for House Cup!"

She sent a scathing look over her shoulder before bustling from the hall, students pushing and jostling to avoid falling in her path as timid, mousy Professor Sprout followed in her wake, casting apprehensive, frightened glances back at the unfortunate fivesome left behind.

"Now, Amycus, what happened here?" Snape's deep voice permeated the scene.

Carrow fed Snape the tale, partly fact but mostly fiction, about how Neville had busted into the hall, grabbed me from my table, kissed me though I tried to spurn his advances, become furious that I wouldn't reciprocate my feelings for him, shoved me away, bruising my face just as Malfoy charged forward, the shimmering knight in this distress eager to save the damsel, pouncing on Neville before he could more harm, but Neville fought back, attempting to deliver an unforgivable curse, but was thwarted as Malfoy, acting from instinct, subdued him.

Snape listened intently, a small smile playing in the corner of his lips, the hint of an amused arch in his brow as he listed to Carrow prattle on. He wasn't buying it. We'd get off.

"Malfoy 'ere is as much a victim as this girl!" Amycus insisted, turning around to pull me forward by my shoulder.

I stumbled forward, my eyes downcast, unable to meet the Headmaster's probing gaze, even as he took my chin between his fingers, gingerly peeling my fingers from my cheek to survey the damage. It was a deep red, slightly purple, with a mild cut near my jaw line from the ostentatious family ring Malfoy wore on his middle finger.

"Mr. Malfoy, would you like to escort Miss Weasley to the hospital wing?" Snape called over his shoulder, never removing his eyes from my face as if silently willing me to look up, to meet his gaze.

"Of course, sir," Draco responded at once, stepping around Neville as he sauntered forward.

"I'm sure it's nothing Madame Pomfrey couldn't relieve with some Essence of Murtlap, but none the less," Snape began, his sentence falling away, his voice soft and drawn.

"Yes, sir," I whispered to the ground, "Thank you." I nodded as Malfoy took my arm, lightly pulling me away.

"Oh, and Miss Weasley?" Snape continued. I turned and his eyes met mine, and not for the first time I had the sneaking suspicion that he could read minds as my fear for Neville, my new reluctance at our plan, the sword of Gryffindor and Harry all swept into my head as if blown by a careless breeze.

"Yes, sir?" I asked, momentarily hazy, dizzy, as the edges of my memories danced at the peripherals of my mind's eye.

"Do be careful, Miss Weasley. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort," he whispered, and suddenly I felt as though he wasn't speaking of Neville, Luna, Dumbledore's Army or the order. It felt like a warning, and one I knew I wouldn't escape as Draco pulled me from the hall.

* * *

><p>"This will sting some at first, dear," Madame Pomfrey warned, pressing the cool compress to my cheek.<p>

I winced then sighed at the Essence of Murtlap took effect. I lifted my hand to take hold of the wad of gauze for her, nodding for her to let go. She bustled away from where I sat, shoulder hunched and knees swinging on the edge of the bed. Malfoy, who had been hovering nearby, started forward. I expected him to slid up next to me on the bed, throw his arm around me. But then I remembered that that was what Harry would do, and he wasn't Harry.

"He'll be expelled, surely," he voice simply, hands in his pockets, rising up then down on the balls of his feet with nervous tension as he picked up a conversation we'd never laid down.

"It's just a bruise or two," I shrugged, feeling the irony in Draco insisting the person who'd harmed me be brought to justice, "It'll probably just be a few detentions or something."

"It'll be more than a few detentions," he whispered, dropping down to a knee, his eyes hard against mine, "Heinous crime, that is, sexual assault."

"S-sexual assault?" I stammered, staring down at him, "But Draco he didn't…"

"Of course he did," he cut across, his voice low and fierce, "He kissed you, pulled you to him. You were begging him to stop, I could see it, you were pleading with him not to, and he did anyhow. He's been taking to the Headmaster's office. His trespass will earn him more than a few detentions."

He had asked but it wasn't a question. Draco had been there, near enough to hear me asking Neville to not do something so foolish. Then had he seen the desperation in Neville's eyes, his reluctance, his unwillingness? He must have, but then how could he turn a blind eye? Did he really have it in for Neville from our one meeting in the library, from our brief past rubbing shoulders? It was as if he was deluded, drunk on Carrow's words as he followed the professor's faulty tale to the letter.

"I didn't want him to kiss me," I answered honestly, "But to call it a… an… assault. It seems a bit much, Draco. I'm sure he never…"

But my words fizzled in my mouth, faded out as Madame Pomfrey strode forward.

"Mr. Malfoy, the Headmaster requests you in his office," she informed in her soft, motherly voice, a small piece of parchment bearing Snape's seal in her hand, "I'll watch out for Miss Weasley; she'll need to rest in any case."

Draco nodded to show he'd heard. She turned back towards her office as Draco returned his attentions to me, our previous conversation already reformed in his mind.

"You're safe now, Ginny," he whispered, laying his hand atop mine where it held the compress to my skin, "And I'll never let anything hurt you."

After he left, Madame Pomfrey offered me pajamas and a potion for dreamless sleep, taking tender care of the _victim_ in her possession. I declined, stating that I wasn't tired. She patted my knee, saying she understood, but put the curtains up around my bed anyhow to give me some privacy. However, I was the last person I wanted to be left alone with; just me and my thoughts.

Where was Neville? Had he gotten into Snape's office? What that insensitive to think? Had he done it, had he pulled it off? But at what price? Surely Snape wouldn't call Draco to his office to partake in the punish, would he? He'd just been called to review the incident, right? Anything else just seemed farfetched and unreal. But then again the Death Eaters we in charge at Hogwarts, this might as well be a school governed by Voldemort himself, and who wouldn't have previously scoffed at that scenario?

Though I tossed and turned, wasting the hours, I couldn't shake the nagging shame biting at my heels. Twice now Neville had laid himself down for me. Twice Neville had taken the fall and come off worse for it. If it weren't for my stubborn insistence there never would have been a second time. Deep down, however, I couldn't lie to myself. For Harry, for the greater good, there had to be a second time, a third, and even a fourth. Getting that sword for Harry could mean the difference between life or death in the fight against Voldemort. Again I had the vision of Harry, sword in hand, true Gryffindor, defeating the heir of Slytherin, overpowering him with magic the sword hadn't yet revealed.

But our cause, our journey, this perverse scavenger hunt wasn't the only thing that could save Harry from death. That weight, among many, was laid across my shoulders. This stupid part I had to play, this stupid girl who wasn't me, just some persona I could step into and peel off, the façade that broke my connection with the boy who lived, that turned me into a scarlet woman who'd turned her back on the Order, on Dumbledore's Army, on Harry. How could I help but feel tore, jaded, ripped apart when every moment spent in Draco's arms was another Harry had to live? In all respects, I'd turned my back on him. I wouldn't be the love sick girl pining for his every letter, wondering where he'd been and where he was going, and he wouldn't be the boy, forever playing hero, coming full circle to fall into the trap where I would be used as bait.

I couldn't think about that now. Neville's head was on the chopping block, would they really expel him? Was there anything I could do without putting anyone else at further harm? I couldn't let Neville take the wrath again, and after what they were probably doing now, I didn't know if he'd survive it if I came up short again.

* * *

><p>Luna came for me during her afternoon break, before the day was out.<p>

"He's been in Snape's office the past few hours," she informed me, her usual floaty voice now heavy and tense, "I've been keeping watch when I can, hiding in a hidden passage way behind a tapestry a few statues down."

She pulled me behind heavy canvas needlework in a narrow passage, barely wide enough across to fit us both. She turned awkwardly in the small space, looking me over with her large, protuberant eyes.

"They say Neville did that," she whispered, her fingers grazing my cheek.

"Malfoy," I winced.

"I thought so. And he didn't attack you, either," she stated, and it sounded accusing.

"I know that," I hissed, feeling defensive, "Don't you think I know that? But I've told Draco, I _tried_ to tell Draco. It's so weird Luna, it's like he's convinced it happened differently. Just like this relationship, it's like he's certain we're in love, that we're made for each, that he's my …"

"Ginny," she sighed, "I understand where you're coming from, but try to imagine where he's coming from. You make eyes at him, hold his hand, kiss him, do God knows what else on the grounds. If you were him, wouldn't you be kind of convinced it's real?"

I thought a moment then shook my head, "No way, it's beyond that. It's like…"

There was light grinding from along the corridor as the statue began to move, the entrance to Snape's office coming slowly into view.

Amycus came first, looking more than pleased with himself. Neville came second, his battered and broken form visible from atop the medical stretcher floating a meter or so off the ground. Draco came last, his robes thrown over his shoulder, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, like a day hard at work.

Madame Pomfrey bustled into view, her kindly face looking worried and strained as, with a flick of the wrist, she summoned the gurney to her side where it hovered at her side as she made her way up the corridor and out of sight.

Luna and I huddled into each other even after the corridor had cleared out. Silently we leaned in one another, and as we moved away, to separate towers of the castle, I felt her absence, cold against my skin where her comforting warmth had been. We were alone now, completely alone.


	11. Chapter 11

**I would like to thank all of my returning readers. I know it has been a long time, longer than usual, since I have updated. I hope to be able to update more often. I am more than thrilled with all of the story alert and favorite alert lists I have been put on. I am terribly grateful and completely flattered. Thank you so much for thinking so highly of my story. I would, please, like to ask that if possible that you could leave the occassional review as I would like to know your thoughts on the tale so far as it is progressing.**

**We are halfway through our story, over the hill, and again I would like to thank you all for sticking with me thus far. **

* * *

><p>Nearly two months passed before I even saw Neville again. Not that he'd made it to any classes though, he was still in the hospital wing barricaded behind a set of privacy curtains.<p>

It was the end of November, the start of the winter cold and flu season, and lucky me: I caught it. It would be easy to blame Draco and his ever wandering hands except that the slimy git was in full spirits with a clean bill of health. It wouldn't be too long before he caught it though for he was never more than an arms length, a hand hold, away ever since the "incident".

Neville spent weeks in the recovery. His Gran was never informed. We were forbidden talk about it in terms other than "Longbottom's mishap during quidditch trials."

_"Can you believe that oaf tried out for the team?" I heard passing Slytherin laugh._

_ "I remember we had lessons together in our first year," recalled his friend, "It's no wonder he ended up in the hospital wing this time."_

_ "What happened?" inquired the first, "Did he fall off?"_

_ "Fall off?" the other cried incredulously, "First he took off to a height of six or seven meters, screaming all the while, before he slid sideways and plummeted to the ground. Only broke his wrist then. Lucky that, but I can't imagine the damage this time around."_

No, all I could blame was stress as it ate at me worse and worse everyday; stress from worrying about Neville, guilting over Harry, avoiding rolling my eyes at Draco's overtly bawdy passes, not to mention keeping up with the new course load of impossible transfigurations, complicated charms, cursing the detentioned with Amycus, slandering muggles with Alecto all the while fretting in secret with Luna over the survival rate of our plan which was bed ridden in a coma like state showing now promising signs.

Stress and blame aside, I found myself perched on the edge of the same bed I'd occupied after the fray, and again I worried for Neville, yet again I felt helpless.

"Ah, Miss Weasley," Madame Pomfrey smiled, "In for some Pepper-Up?"

I sniffed loudly, the same snot gurgling snarl that won me the argument against Draco's overprotective need to be at my side day and night.

_"I'll be fine, I promise," I sighed, his affections wearing me thin._

_ "Darling, I'm just looking out for you," he smiled, a smile that would cause most girls to swoon, a smile that earned me jealous glares._

_ "I know, and it's sweet," I lied, "But I should really go myself."_

_ "But he's in there, Darling," Draco whispered, leaning in towards my blotchy nose and watery eyes, "What if he tries something? What if he hurts you again?" He brushed my cheek with the back of his hand, his ring gliding over the small scar it had left weeks before. He was still oblivious to his actions, still convinced it was Neville who'd come at me with rage in his eyes. I knew better to contradict him, to even insinuate it had played out another way. When I'd tried he was angry at first, for how dare I suggest he'd do such a thing, and then he was mournful, in a snap, in a moment, on his knee before me, his voice soft and loving, telling me he'd never hurt me, he'd always protect me. I felt like the girlfriend of a dangerous mob boss, and this boulder sized henchmen looming a stones throw away just set the scene perfectly. _

_ "He won't," I sniffed, coughing slightly, "Not with Madame Pomfrey there."_

_ He took a step or two backwards as I began coughing again, his resolve weakening and I ran with it, "And besides, you don't want to get sick either, do you?"_

_ He didn't, I knew it. Draco Malfoy was many things, and partially germophobic grazed the top of the list with orderly and clean, but he maintained his gentlemanly demeanor, "I could send Crabbe or Goyle with you."_

_ I almost laughed at the absurdity of it, the mobster's lady being escorted by his cronies at all timed, but in my efforts to stifle my mirth I broke into a larger fit of coughing, rounding it out with a slimy, wet snarl._

She poured me a small tumbler and ordered that I drink it down. I was familiar with the Pepper Up potion, having taken it a few times in the past years. It wasn't exactly an enjoyable experience, but the relief was well worth the scalding fire it left in your throat and the steam that funneled from your ears. Back in my first year Harry had told me that with my vivid Weasley hair it gave me the appearance of being afire. I remember blushing furiously when he'd told me, hurrying away to my dormitory to write our latest interaction in my diary. But every time since that I'd visited Madame Pomfrey for my annual dose of Pepper-Up, he'd drop the same line, and it was so cheesy I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

I swallowed it in one, gagging and sputtering in the familiar fashion. I fell forward, dropping my head between my knees as I sucked in a massive gasp of air that felt frigid and icy on my blistering throat. I could feel my hair twitch on either side of my face as a subtle stream of steam issued from my ears, relief spreading through my previously congested sinuses.

I sat back up, slouching in a drunkenly happy stupor, a relaxed grin spreading across my face.

"Better Miss Weasley?" Madame Pomfrey chuckled, taking the tumbler from my hand gently.

"So much better," I smiled, unable and not wanting to rid myself of these first few minutes of pure relief; they were always the best before familiarity starts to set in and before you know it you're taking breathing in from your nose for granted.

She laughed lightly, shaking her head as she bustled back towards her office. I sighed, readying myself to return to the daily grind, to the usual shuffle when a noise behind me caught my ears, draining my drunken relief.

"Psst." It came from behind the curtain. It couldn't be anyone but Neville but I froze, my spine stiff, my shoulder rigid.

"Hey. Psst," he hissed again. I swallowed hard which brought tears to my eyes as the fire in my throat roused slightly. I checked the door, ensuring it was shut. Draco hadn't followed me, why would be follow me? He wouldn't want to get sick. He'd trust me to… What or who was I kidding? Him, trust me? Probably not farther than Hermione could lob a quaffle, even on her best days.

I turned slightly on the bed, peaking over my shoulder at the tall pale blue hanging at the far end of the ward. Neville was barely visible, his purpled eye edging out from around the curtains. Next came a hand, inching around the fabric, beckoning. I shook my head, nodding towards Madame Pomfrey's office. Surely she'd see. Surely she'd tell someone. Surely…

Neville rolled his eyes, beckoning me with greater hast. I shrugged, my eyes darting between care taker's office, towards the door leading back to the castle, and finally falling back on his. Neville sighed, pulling his wand from his pocket and flicking it at the office door before striding out from behind the curtains, easily cross the ward in three quick strides, and coming to a stop at the end of the bed I was sitting on.

I eyed him up and down. His one arm was in a slight cast, nothing bulky and over bearing considering Madame Pomfrey must have mended it in a trice, but just something to prevent further strain. His one eye was still purple, yet the other was clear and seeing. There was a slender scar arching through his right eyebrow, a memory of the gash he'd come free with from the Headmaster's office.

"She'll see," I whispered, feeling deflated, defeated, and ashamed.

"She won't see a damned thing," Neville sighed, plopping down on the edge of the bed. The silence stretched the gap between us. He sighed again and muttered, "We should talk."

"Look, Neville.." I began, rushing forward. Wanting to tell him how sorry I was, how this was all my fault, how I never wanted anything like this to happen, how could I? This whole year was a mess: Harry was gone, Neville was in the hospital wing made to feel like a social pariah, Draco was always by my side calling me his _darling_ or his _love_, and I felt like this big plan I had hatched, this simple plan to see me through the year and then back into Harry's arms, had blown up in my face as a complex many headed monster that sprouted another terribly, terrifying twist and turn with every get away you thought you had successfully pulled off.

"Ok," Neville cut across, "I lied. _We _shouldn't talk. _I_ should talk. You're loosing sight, Gin. Luna's been in to see me a few times in the night, always when Pomfrey's been sleeping or down to dinner. She says you're loosing faith, that you're falling in with Malfoy like a daily bad habit, like one you'll swear you'll be rid of at the New Year what with the resolutions and jilted promises we make to ourselves, but in two weeks you'll fall back into it."

It wasn't until he'd paused that I noticed my mouth had been hanging open. Anger flared inside of me. How dare he say this? How could he? Here I was laying my life on the line. Ok, maybe not my life, but this wasn't my choice, this wasn't what I wanted, this wasn't…true. He was right. I was falling in step with the life I'd felt resigned to. I wasn't fighting anymore. I wasn't a sleeper waiting to strike at the right time. I was a match without a spark, a cauldron without a flame. I was so busy putting on the old act, putting on the grand show of flirty smiles and intimate kisses that I could have forgotten. I was in this for a reason, one I could never forget, but the one that had escaped me, the reason that had kept me fighting before, I wasn't alone. I wouldn't have to do it alone.

"I keep forgetting I have someone to depend on," I admitted, "I keep forgetting that you and Luna will have my back, just like in the Ministry a couple years ago. I just feel like I'm in this alone, like he's watching my every step, my every move, trying to pinpoint the exact moment he can pull the rug out from under my feet and laugh and say it was all joke, a ploy, that he was going dangle me our as bait for Harry anyway."

"He's not gonna do that," Neville whispered, his voice low and deadly.

"How do you…"

"Gin," he turned towards me, his eyes wide and serious, "He's…. strange."

"What? Neville, strange how?"

"I heard him talking with Snape," Neville rushed, licking his lips, his eyes darting back and forth between mine, "They thought I was out, unconscious. It was when Amycus had been sent to retrieve the gurney. Snape asked how much longer this charade was going to go on, how much longer it would take?"

"Wait," I cut across, "How much longer what would take?"

"That just it," he exclaimed, "I don't know. At first I was scared, did Snape know you were playing Draco, that this was all show? I mean, he's practically second in command, he could… well, you know. On that note, thought, I've been thinking. Maybe Draco suggested the relationship to get Harry's whereabouts out of you. I mean, his family was pretty low on the pole last time we saw them. How is he now back on top, the top dog, ordering anyone around? He's been set a job to do, like last year."

"You think so?" I asked, wishing I had Harry here to help me sort through all this. He was the first to suspect, first to know, that Draco was a Death Eater. If anyone wouldn't put it past him now that he's got more sinister things up his sleeve, it'd be Harry.

"Yeah, I do," Neville nodded, "But we can't talk much about that now. We're running out of time. Anyhow, Draco tells him it isn't a show. That you really love him, that he really loves you. That he wouldn't need to convince you of anything."

"Convince me…" I began.

"Yeah, yeah, I know it's confusing," Neville rushed on, "But my point is, Gin, watch out for yourself. Draco's turned. He's convinced you actually love him and you've renounced Harry for good. He's convinced he never actually hit you, but that it was me in a jealous fit of rage. And that's not all. He's convinced that…"

"Miss Weasley?" Are you still here?" came Madame Pomfrey's voice from a long way off.

"The muffliato is wearing off," Neville murmured, pouncing from the bed.

"Wait!" I hissed, reaching across and grabbing the sleeve of his robes, "What's he convinced of, what's…"

"Never mind that now," Neville whispered, checking over his shoulder at the entrance to Madame Pomfrey's office, "Gin, what I really needed to tell you is that I've got it. I've got the password. It's on. It's still on. We've got to plan. We've got to do it soon."

"Neville!" I wanted to cry out, I wanted to jump for joy, but instead I whispered, it was terribly anti-climatic, "That's great! I'm so…"

"Miss Weasley?"

"Listen," Neville hissed, his voice low and his eyes serious, "Gin, watch yourself. I'll be outta here in a few days, not that that matter much, but be careful."

I nodded and he zipped away, running the length of the ward on tip toe, ducking behind the curtain just as Madame Pomfrey's face appeared around the door post.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked, her kindly face etched with motherly concern.

"Yes, I'm fine," I smiled, "Just resting up a moment. It's been a long week. I was kind of avoiding going back to class."

She chuckled, shaking her head, "Run along, Miss Weasley. The bell will toll in about five minute's time."

She waved me out and into the vacant halls of the castle. I had to find to Luna. It had been weeks since I'd really spoken to her. If she knew what I now know, and I'm sure she does, then Neville was right, we have a lot of planning to do.


	12. Chapter 12

The bell sounded and students pushed in the corridors, shoving me sideways into the group filing out of the library from study hall with Madame Pince. I didn't envy them.

"Is it lunch hour?" I asked, grabbing a random first year.

"Y-yeah," he stammered, looking both scared and confused.

I started for the Great Hall, eager to find Luna, eager to plan. She had information, and with her mind, it might as well be two weeks until I saw Harry again.

"Rough housing first years?" I could practically hear the chiding smirk in his voice as the smile faded from my face. I could have cursed myself for ambling into the corridor housing the classroom I should have been avoiding. Now how was I supposed to get a minute alone with Luna?

"I was just…" I turned, my excuses lost. Do I say I was just asking for the lunch hour? What could be the harm in that? I couldn't say he'd stepped on my foot or something; Draco would curse his little body down where it giggled and ran with his friends.

He smiled at me indulgently, like I was his favorite little pet caught acting funny, and because I was still adoring and new, my behavior would be considered cute.

"I was just asking if it was lunch hour," I smiled, "I hope we're having pot-pies."

"Feeling better?" he asked, his hands holding me under my jaw, cupping my face, his light eyes scrutinizing, surveying my face for the effects of watery eyes, a red, sniffling nose, and swollen lips sealed over a perpetual cough.

"Yes, dear," I stood stock still. I hated when he took me into his hands like this, like I was his child to command, his pet that must obey, but I was getting used to it, and I knew better than to fidget and pretend I didn't adore his touch against my skin.

"No problems, I trust," he whispered, his voice so low that I doubted Crabbe or Goyle, standing guard an arm's length away, could have heard him.

"No," I whispered back, "Not at all. Madame Pomfrey was with me the whole time except for a moment when she went to grab the Pepper-Up from her office. He didn't… he wouldn't have dared…" I shrugged, adding his bit of nonchalance to my story, but stopped immediately, remembering how his eyes would turn cold if he thought I was trying to shrug free from his grasp.

"Good," he nodded, his tone business-like, "Longbottom's thick skull is penetrated by little, but let's hope he remembers his place this time, for his own sake."

He dropped his hands from my face.

"Now, let's go see about those pot-pies," he smiled, offering his arm to me, his cronies flanking us from behind. It was like being escorted to lunch by Who-Know-Who himself with my likelihood of escape. I noted Luna right away, visible by her long mane of wavy blonde hair, not to mention the hair pins made from butterbeer caps and her characteristic radish earrings. I longed to escape over to her, to plan this very minute, the old fire bursting inside of me once more, burning at my belly, my chest. But I couldn't, there was no escape, no planning, not while those steely gray eyes held me in their sights.

I sat through lunch, chewing slowly, watching the clock count down the minutes until our afternoon hours began. This afternoon was muggle studies, a class I dreaded almost as much as Defense Against the Dark Arts, what with the new staff arrangements. Every slander and slur that vile woman spat through her slobbering lips left my blood boiling. I knew it was the Weasley in me, my father and our compassionate upbringing, how my brothers and I were taught to judge a man based on his choices more than his abilities, magic or not. But to hear her rants and rages, how we prune the weeds of society, cure the cankers or civilization, as if muggle life, culture, and blood was really as vile as they had deluded themselves into believing it was.

I was so lost in my own anger and fire that I didn't notice he was sitting besides me until he was halfway through his thought.

"…whiling away the afternoon. How does that sound?"

I jumped as I registered his voice, my fork dropping to my plate with a clatter, "But what about class?"

He gave me an indulgent smile, "Class was cancelled. Professor Carrow is ill, probably with the same head cold that had been affecting you. Did you get the owl?"

I shook my head as much to clear it as to respond to his question.

"As I stated, I was thinking we'd spend the afternoon together then. Alone," he smiled, his features somehow soft yet still commanding.

"But the grounds at this time of year would be freezing," I persisted, thinking that this lapse in classes would be the perfect opportunity to get a hold of Luna and my hands on a plan. If only I could find her, that is. I glanced towards the Ravenclaw table; she was no where in sight.

"Yes," he whispered drawing closer, "And that is exactly why I thought you would like to join me. In my room."

"Your… your room?" I stammered, "Surely we…"

"You don't want to?" he interrupted, his face full of arrogant skepticism.

"It's not that," I rushed, "It's just that…"

"Ah…." Draco sighed with the air of deduction, "You've not been in a boy's room before, have you?"

I didn't answer as he interpreted my silence as just another treat found along this delicious journey for him.

"Come Darling," he smiled, a devilishly sexy grin that wouldn't bode well for me, "Let me show you there's nothing to be afraid of, no need to be timid. I won't bite… much."

* * *

><p>I walked steadily, slowly along side him, not at all eager, but still unable to show my reluctance. My hand felt sweaty in his, the perspiration beading on my palms. When he released me to step forward and five the password, I hastily rubbed them on my robes.<p>

It was too much to hope for the common room to be empty. I felt there eyes on me. I could hear a few titters and murmurs as we passed, my shoes clacking against the stone floor, the fire in the grate emitting an eerie green glow that casted long shadows against the high backed chairs and the stone walls that were covered in elegant, detailed tapestries, not that I knew it at time for my eyes were glued to the ground, unable and unwilling to make eye contact, to seeing their jeering faces or their curious stares. A lion amongst snakes, this far down in the dungeons even if I wanted to scream my roars of frustration would only be drowned by their malevolent hissing.

We mounted the stone steps, the passage so narrow my shoulders bumped from one side to another. Now it really was a wonder how Crabbe and Goyle got out of bed in the morning. Thin waxy candles in iron wrought tiers lit every landing. On every landing there were four doors, each door was made of a dark wood, a single circular knocker in the center. It was at the third landing that we stopped our ascent. He strode forward pushing on the heavy wood lightly with his outstretched finger tips causing it to swing effortlessly on the well oiled hinges. He stepped back, leaning against the cold stone to let me pass. I had been expecting the high ceilings, twin beds, and cozy firewood stoves of Gryffindor tower. Instead I found myself in a room where my outstretch arms grazed the ceiling, the bed was twice the size of the one I was used to and standing alone, and a small fire in the corner that couldn't have kept the chill off a January evening no matter how many logs you stacked in the grate.

"Well," he whispered, his arms snaking around my waist. He had closed the door silently, strode up behind me where I stood in the middle of the room, drinking it all in, the scene of what would be my great infidelity, the scene of the crime.

"Cozy," I responded, eyeing the black walls, the empty shelves, the immaculate cleanliness.

He laughed, kissing my cheek, "I like to keep it simple. Forget that home away from home shit, I say. This isn't home; it's school. If I had to live here the rest of my days I may as well pitch myself off the astronomy tower."

He laughed again, moving away from me to the bed and I felt a chill go up my spine remembering the last man I knew who had called this place home, and how against his wishes he was made to leave it forever… pitched from the astronomy tower.

"Come," he called softly, patting the coverlet next to where he sat. I was there in two small, leveled steps and I turned and lightly planted my rear on the edge of the bed, my hands folded politely in my lap.

"Now, that won't do!" he exclaimed lightly, grabbing my waist and pulling me backwards, over him, and onto the bed. My hair splayed out against the pillow, his smiling face so close to mine, his arms wrapped around my body. It was like a scene from one of those sappy love novels my mom read, the ones where splashed across the cover was an overly muscled man, his bare chest oiled and visible through a wind blow shirt, a busty, whimsical damsel in his arms. I hate seeing those girls swooning over those men, a swoon that I could only imagine would return every time their man opened a pickle jar or grabbed the flower vase lurking just out of reach above the ice box. I wasn't one of those swooning girls, I never would be, and it wasn't helped that the bed I was tumbling into wasn't the one I spent so many hours day dreaming of.

He swept a spare strand of hair lying across my cheek behind my ear with his graceful fingers, his breath warm against my face. His eyes were cheerful and alight, and I hated him even more for it as I forced a small smile before his mouth engulfed mine in wet, eager kisses. This would be the easy part, the old routine; his mouth was warm, his style was familiar, but it felt all wrong. His agile fingers eagerly worked against the buttons of my blouse as I laid against the plush mattress and fought the urge slap him away. With the final fastening conquered he pulled back lightly, looking me over like a farmer sizing up the slab of meat he had just bought, drinking in my pale skin, my pale green bra, and, of course, my breasts. In a minute his mouth was trailing down my neck towards my chest where his lips ran along the top of my bosom and down in my cleavage, his hand resting against the lacey-cotton blend, his thumb pushing up underneath the underwire. I ran my fingers through his hair, breathing deeply and sighing as if my eyes weren't roving every inch of the bare wall hoping for a clock or someway to know the time so I could begin the countdown of how many hours I had left in the arms of the one I loathed.

With his other hand he began to fiddle with the buckle of his belt, unzipping the zipper and unhinging the buttons. My heart began to pound, and with his face up against my skin I was surprised he didn't notice it. Even it he did he would have shrugged it off as either excitement or nerves.

His trailed back up towards my neck, skimming my jaw, my cheek, landing on my lips. With his now free hand he took one of mine, where it was wrapped in his thick, blonde locks, and slid it down his chest and into his pants. I gasped lightly as my fingers made contact with the surprising soft skin inside his boxers. He moaned lightly against my mouth as my fingers brushed it again. It took all I had not to clench my hands and dig my fingers into my palms, revolted, not by his body, but by the whole scene.

Just like that first day on the grounds, I dove in, my eyes shut tight I wrapped my fingers lightly around it, feeling the baby soft skin against my hand as I began to caress him, fumbling in my touches.

He sighed and moaned in my neck, his kisses becoming sloppier, his tongue running against my skin. Minutes later there was a light spray against my hand, something I took no notice until he pulled away and resumed his kissing of my breasts, this time biting and nibbling my exposed flesh. His hand danced up my thigh, running over my leggings and under my skirt where he rubbed his fingers in small circles against the cotton fabric. His hand journeyed upwards slightly to the waist band, attempting to duck underneath and into my underwear. I grabbed his wrist in a fierce grip before I could stop myself. His lips left my chest as his eyes landed on mine.

"How am I to make you finish if you won't let me finger you?" he asked, his tone light as if he was discussing the weather.

"I.. I…" I stammered, taken aback by his forwardness as I searched for a motive for my behavior, "I'm on my…" My eyes shifted away from his and back quickly, saying for my what they could, lying for me, and with a flush of embarrassment, caused more by his bawdy word choice rather than my pretend predicament, I knew I was golden.

"Oh," he replied, his voice toneless as he slid his hand slowly away from my waistband.

The awkwardness hung in the air, and I was hoping it was powerful enough to carry me from his dorm and into the nearest shower when suddenly he resumed his kissing and biting of my chest. I winced as his teeth dug in but quickly hid it under a pretend gasp of pleasure as I released he thought he was bringing me passion and not pain, that regardless of the welts he would leave he doing it for me, not to hurt me, as if the difference mattered.

And so the afternoon passed, as I laid my head back against the pillow, my eyes roving the cold stone walls for the clock I knew wasn't there, for the minutes that passed like hours, the afternoon that passed like days, as I professed to Draco that his kisses, his love, was the best, the very, very best. But of course, I would have told You-Know-Who himself that he was the best, the very, very best if it meant keeping Harry safe.


	13. Chapter 13

"He said he wouldn't bite much," I spat, watching the suds trickle down my front, "The dirty great liar!"

The shower was hot, but it couldn't wash away my memory of the afternoon, couldn't wash away my shame.

"I'm sure it was flirtatious talk," Luna responded levelly from the other side of the stall door, "I doubt he even remembers he said anything to the affect, it was just to, erm, set the _mood_. And stop hacking away in there; you sound like an old man."

"I can't help it!" I whined, spitting again, "I just can't keep the taste of him out of my mouth!"

There was silence from the other side of the door and I could only image the whir of thoughts a sentence like that could strike up.

"Not… Not like that," I stammered as I grabbed for the soap for the fourth time and began hastily scrubbing my already assaulted flesh, "It's just his spit, it's all…" And now I was grossing myself out. I spit again, opening my mouth to the faucet like an ignorant turkey in the rain, my eyes shut tight against the scalding storm, before swishing the burning liquid around the insides of my cheeks, in between my teeth, and spewing it to the tile floor.

"I know," came Luna's voice, a hint of assurance in her tones, "Because I remember you said he…"

"Yep!" I yelled in an attempt to drown her out, my face burning and it had nothing to do with the hot water pouring down my shoulders.

"Sometimes happens… is normal… pre-coital ejaculation..." Luna muttered, sprouting facts that I'm sure popped into her head. Ravenclaws remembered everything. I, personally, hadn't paid that close attention to the birds and bees talk, especially considering it was delivered by Fred and George, and with every word they said Ron's face grew redder and redder. It was more about seeing who could make him squirm in his seat than to actually inform us of anything.

There was a pause, and then, "But you guys didn't…"

"No," I responded shortly, chewing the insides of my cheek and reminding myself I still have something left, a part of me that would be just for Harry, something I could share for the first time only with him considering it was being proven that in this life kisses came cheap, and hands are never idle.

"But didn't he try to…"

"He did," I nodded before remembering she couldn't see me, "But I told him I was on my…"

"Enough already!" came a rough shout that echoed off the tiled walls, "Really, you think I haven't heard enough?"

"Right," I sighed, my face flushed with a renewed heat of humiliation, "Sorry, Neville."

My business no longer felt like my business now that I was no longer playing a familiar game. I had kissed other boys, sure, felt their fumbling touch against the fastenings of my bra, their bold daring at sliding a hand along my thigh. All these years I spent thinking myself, as mom would say, a Scarlet Woman, and yet after this afternoon those devious, dirty times seemed vanilla, and suddenly I felt more full of myself than I had ever intended thinking that I could take on Malfoy as if I was putting on the old act when really I found myself wearing shoes that left me stumbling and fumbling in my tracks.

I was stupid, naïve, to think that the game wouldn't take this turn, wouldn't take me this far. But it wasn't a game to him, as I was slowly beginning to realize.

You're right," I called to Neville over the screeching of the shower taps, stemming the flow of the burning water and leaving me feeling cold and clammy.

"How do you mean?" Luna replied. I opened the stall door a fraction, just enough so that I could peer out and meet her gaze. In the distance I noted Neville turning his back to us, pacing away in an air of nonchalance.

"He's gone… It's not some twisted trick to him," I finished, knowing that the words could only scrape the surface of what I meant. I held out my hand for my robe, jerking and pulling it back through the tiny entrance I had left open, before shutting the door again and donning the fluffy, warm cotton in private.

"I know," Neville replied softly.

"Today, while we were…" I blushed, grateful they couldn't see the shame in my face, "He, um, told me he loved me, asked me if I was happy with him, told me it was his greatest wish to always see me smile…"

The silence from the other side of the door was deafening; I could practically hear the furitive looks they were shooting one another. I felt guilty, as if I had betrayed a secret that Draco had told me. Outwardly he was bully, used to getting his way, fighting with his intelligence through manipulation, word play, or torture. He had a smile that could make you melt and a cold glare that could stop you dead. To me, however, he was gentler, sweeter, someone I never would have expected, someone I could have grown to like if it weren't for the constant reminder that he was fighting for the other side.

"What was it that he was convinced of?" I asked suddenly, remembering the rushed conversation that Neville and I had only that morning, which seemed like at least a week ago.

"Just as you said," he responded slowly, "That he loves you and that you love him."

"No," I replied slowly, "No, there was something else, something you were about to say just before Madame Pomfrey showed up."

There was a pause, then, "He's convinced that you two had never made a compact, that there was never an agreement between the two of you, that what took place in the carriage ride was something like love at first sight rather than an agreement made between enemies."

I was glad for the door that separated us, glad they couldn't see the horror on my face. It had been barely three months and in that time Draco had turned from a taunting terror to a lovesick romantic, shrugging off our years of cruel name calling and debilitating hexes as if they had never happened. Why, it was barely two years ago that he had held me hostage in Umbridge's office, his wand pressed against my throat, twisting my arm up behind my back.

"Oh," was all I could respond. What else was there to say? Just months ago we hated each other; a Death Eater's hatred for a Blood Traitor and vice verse. And now, it was all forgotten; now it was all less than a memory… to him at least. What had happened to the boy I knew and loathed, to the Slytherin who had slandered my family and sneered at our poverty, what had happened to Draco Malfoy?

Though deep down I couldn't say this was unexpected. Looking at the pieces as they fell into place, they all confirmed what Neville had said. I would have thought intimacy would have been something he thought himself entitled to being my on-stage boyfriend, something I couldn't say no to without facing heavy consequences. But it wasn't like that; he never held it over my head, never forced me. This afternoon was as much my doing as his own, as much as I would have liked to blame him for the entire thing. All this in mind, however, I still couldn't say no, not straight out, at least, not if it meant saving Harry, not if it meant ending the war.

I worked to compose my features before opening the stall again and dropping onto the nearest bench. I felt tired, hungry, and sore. Draco had excused me from dinner and wouldn't be looking for me this evening, taking in my haggard expression and weary smile. I'd told him I was going to shower and then straight to bed. In actuality as soon as the portrait hole had swung shut I summoned my toiletries and raced to find Luna, grabbing her arm as she made for the grand staircase, and pulling her out of sight. Together, and with some clever spellmanship, we broke Neville free from the Hospital Wing, plowing along the corridors in stampede of pounding feet that skidded to a stop at every corner, Luna peaking around each to ensure that the coast was clear, until we reached the prefect's bathroom on the fifth floor. The password hadn't changed in years, oddly enough, more than likely so prefects could share the lavish surroundings with their closest friends and relatives rather than their lack of creativity.

I'd avoided the swimming pool sized bath in the middle of the spotless tile, heading instead for the shower in the corner with its sleek glass walls that changed colors to correspond with the user's wishes and was easily large enough to accommodate the entire Gryffindor quidditch team. It was with an aching heart and a renew sense of hatred that I recalled Snape's disbanding of the school's quidditch teams after the near riot at the Hufflepuff try outs where nearly the entire Slytherin house, with Professors Carrow in tow, had taken to hexing participants off their brooms breaking at least one second year's arm and landing a fourth year in the Hospital Wing with a bad concussion. Naturally, the Hufflepuffs fought back, soon joined by spectators from the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor houses. It didn't take long before the Cruciatus curse joined the mix, creating a further twenty three overnight visitors to the Hospital Wing. I was there, and would have taken great enjoyment in blasting Amycus and Alecto to pieces with my preferred Bat-Bogey Hex, except that before I could barely unsheathe my wand Draco had pushed me down against the rough wood of the stands, Crabbe and Goyle creating a protective barrier around us. At first I was convinced it was their backhanded strategy to prevent me from entering the fray and turning on my beloved. As the moments passed, however, I came to realize this was Draco's attempt at chivalry, that his mother, a powerful witch in her own right, never entered battle unless it was deemed necessary, and a school spat would probably be the last type of quarrel to call for necessity.

Luna flicked her wand and a pile of sandwiches dropped onto the bench by my side, pulling me from my thoughts. I hastily grabbed one, turkey and cheese, and bit off a Ron sized mouthful. If I would have been at home my mother would have smacked my elbow and accused me of being "un-ladylike". I swallowed, slumping in my seat.

"I thought you couldn't create food from thin air," Neville stated, grabbing a sandwich and dropping down next to me, "Gamp's Law or something like that."

"You can't, but I knew where the sandwiches were so I could summon them into being," Luna recited sounding, as Hermione often did, as if she had just swallowed a textbook. With a pang of shame I remembered Harry was out there, Hermione and Ron by his side, and here I was stuffing my face with sandwiches and feeling sorry for myself for having to spend the afternoon playing chew toy to Draco's pearly whites.

My appetite faded as quickly as it came, but I choked down the last mouthful before turning to Neville and Luna.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked.

"Well, we have the password," Neville shrugged, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, "I know it's been a couple weeks, but I doubt he's changed it since then. Now all we need to decide on is when to strike."

"Not all," Luna corrected, "We need to know where the sword is located in Snape's office, we need to know where Snape will be while we are in there so that he doesn't come back and surprise us, and we need to plan how we will get the sword to Harry after we have it in our possession."

"I'll fly it to him," I announced suddenly, "Snape will return to the office minutes after we've left, he'll surely see the sword is missing and go looking for a culprit. It's the safest bet that whoever the blame falls upon should be far out of sight and out of reach. I won't risk either of you taking the blame, so if I disappear with the sword Snape will have to face no other option than that it was me, and I'll be long gone before he realizes."

"Gin, no, that's suicide," Neville whispered, "You can't go alone, how will you find them? They've left virtually no trail, where could you look first? It wouldn't be safe for you, it's best if I take the sword. I'm already in enough hot water as it is around this place and…"

"No way would that work," I dismissed, "Not to be rude or anything, but you aren't exactly top at flying. I could get there faster."

"Yeah, but you don't even know where there is," Neville countered, "If I were to go…"

"Neville, I've got to get out here," I pleaded, "I can't do this much longer, I can't handle this strain. Here I am, practically living a double life on the arm of Draco Malfoy, who has gone completely mental, and everyday I have to smile, kiss, and play pet as if my skin isn't crawling and I don't feel rotten to my core."

"But, Gin," he began."

"But nothing!" I cut across, a heavy whine trickling into my voice, "I don't want to do this any longer, I can't do this any longer!"

"You can," Luna whispered after a long pause, "You can do this, Ginny, if anyone can it's you. You play him so well, and I can see that it's killing you, but you can do this. You've handled him for the past few months, a few more weeks is all we need."

"I've got to get out of here, Luna," I whispered back, "I've got to."

"Then it'll be the three of us to go," Luna decided, her keen Ravenclaw mind at work, "I won't let you go alone, we won't let Neville go alone, and neither of you would let me go alone. So we go together, we seek them out together."

It was decided, we'd strike the weekend before Christmas break, exactly four days from tonight, during dinner when Snape would be in the Great Hall. Neville would work on timing, planning down to the second from when we will enter Snape's office to the moment our theft will be discovered and we would have to be long gone. Luna would prepare for our escape, hiding three broomsticks on top of the astronomy tower and filling a satchel full of food knicked from the kitchens. And I, I would keep Draco happy, I would help him turn a blind eye to our plans, I would create the perfect cover up and alibi.

In a way I was strangely reminded of the days before Harry had left the Burrow; Hermione grabbing spare sock out of the laundry and the occasional loaf of bread from the cooling racks, and shoving them into her beaded bag, the late night meetings in Ron's room where they would spend hours planning away from mom's keen eyes, Harry's last minute promises to me, promises to come back to me, promises that it would all be alright, the silver lining I had been looking for. We'd escape the castle, find Harry, and defeat Voldemort. Before long, this would all be just a memory. But if my first year had taught me anything, it was that even memories can prove to be fatal.


	14. Chapter 14

We planned to the last minute. Everything conveyed in secret notes, clandestine meetings, and coded glances. Neville was still hauled up in the Hospital Wing. It seemed ridiculous to return him to the hustle and bust of classes with only four days left in the term, two of them being weekend days at that. I spent my days on Draco's arm, no returns to the Slytherin common room thankfully, and my night running back and forth over the same blueprints and timing schedules hidden away in the Room of Requirement. Hagrid had thrown a "Support Harry Potter" party in his cabin. We knew better than to show up though all of us were dying to grab a butterbeer and join in the celebrations. If Snape or anyone had caught wind of what was going on we would have been on lock down, and the night before the big day it was something we couldn't afford to risk. We had poured so much into it, it was impenetrable, impervious, it couldn't fail. But naturally, it did.

* * *

><p>"It's all set, " Luna whispered, joining us behind the tapestry where we had hidden so many weeks ago when we had first cooked up this plan; they'd taken Neville and all we could do was watched, and wait.<p>

"The broomsticks?" I questioned. I knew she had had it all covered, but in my own anxiety I couldn't help but ask.

"On the roof," she whispered, her eyes closed as if she could see them laying against the battlements.

"The food, the spare robes?" I continued. If I had been in Luna's shoes I would have wanted to smack me. If anything my constant questioning was only making things worse, was only fraying our nerves further. But Luna took it in stride, patting her bulging rucksack.

"How's Draco?" she inquired after a minute's silence, and I could see I wasn't the only one looking for a distraction.

"Good," I answered shortly, then hoping to fill more space I added, "Thinks I have fallen ill, again."

"Oh?" she pressed, not really interested, but humoring the situation anyhow.

"Yeah," I nodded, "I took on of Fred and George's Puking Pastilles, insisted it just have been food poisoning or something. He fell for it, no problem. You think he'd have cottoned on after that stunt we pulled with them back in our fourth year, but…"

My voice trailed away and be both turned towards Neville. He was silent, his wrist held a breath away from his nose, his eyes unblinkingly fixed on the second hand.

"He should be leaving…. Right… Now!" he hissed as I grabbed for the edge of the tapestry, peeling it back lightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the stone gargoyles that surrounded the Head Master's office. The shifted to one side for a moment, emitting Snape into the hallway, his black robes billowing and I could almost see his last steps down the circular staircase from his office above. He paused a moment and we all held our breath. I feel the blood pounding in my ears, my heart pounding in my chest. He glanced around, looking for nothing in particular before turning away towards the Grand Staircase, heading to the Great Hall for his dinner, just as Neville had guessed, his days of observation adding weight to his deductions.

"Ok," he whispered, his eyes set, drawn up to full height, "Let's do this."

I saw Luna nod from behind him, taking a deep breath, stealing herself. There was no turning back now.

I yanked back the tapestry, running towards the stone gargoyles at full tilt. My shoes clattered against the polished marble, my heart pounded in my ears, it was like I'd never heard anything more deafening in my life. The stone gargoyles were posed to shout, either from surprise because I was running or because they foresaw an intrusion. Regardless, they never got a word out before I'd whipped my wand from the pocket of my robes and gasped, "Immobulus!"

At once the gargoyles froze, their expressions of shock and outrage etched in their stone faces. We'd decided against "stupefy", after what we had seen last year during the Death Eater storm where they had lain shattered and strewn across the marble floor. Neville and Luna followed at a slow job, clapping me on the back at Neville turned towards the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

I couldn't help but look over my shoulder as Neville leaned in to give the password. "Lily flower," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the throbbing of my pulse through my ears. It hadn't occurred to me then how odd Snape's password was to me, how under any other circumstances I would have snickered in a habit that would have made Fred and George proud, but at the time the only thing I could think of was how badly I hoped this would work, that Snape wouldn't return, that the password hadn't been changed.

The revolving staircase appeared, began to move slowly. In our shock we almost forgot to jump aboard. Neville had come to his senses first, pulling me by the robes along with him. I grabbed for Luna's hand at the last second, and we were momentarily plunged into darkness as the staircase continued to rise before coming to a stuttering, abrupt halt before a large wooden door that we more felt than saw.

"Well, shall we?" Neville asked, his voice hardly above a whisper as he placed his hand flat against the ornately carved wood and pushed. The door swung easily on its hinges. The office was as Dumbledore had left it, not a gadget out of place, the ornate chair behind the desk made of the same soft leather it had been years ago when I had seen it, the portraits sleeping, Dumbledore himself leaning against his frame, snoring lightly.

We stood on the threshold, hardly daring to step in on the soft blue carpet, our eyes roving the circular walls mutely until…

"It's there," Luna gasped, her hand pushing my shoulder aside as she pointed to a glass case on the far wall beside the old sorting hat.

Silence pressed again, none of us quite sure of what to do. Should we step across, just grab it from the case and run? Should be try 'accio', would it even respond? Would we set off any alarms? Was Snape on our heels? Were we really here?

I heard Neville gulp beside me, lifting his leg roughly, arthritically, and placing it firmly over the threshold, heel then toe. He paused, seeing like I would have if anything had happened. Apparently the poisoned darts were only Indiana Jones' thing. He let out a light sight and I would have laughed if my voice wasn't caught in my throat. He took another step, gingerly walking as lightly and quickly as his gangly frame could carry him. We followed at his heel like puppies after scraps, our eyes darting to every corner. I nearly bumped into him as he came to a light stop, his eyes fixed on the glass case just above us, definitely within arm's length, his arms at least.

"Do I just.. should I…" Neville stammered, struggling to find the words as he checked his watch. We had another two minutes before we had to vacate the office, another five before we had to be atop the astronomy tower.

Luna nodded fervently, urging him forward. He was the only one tall enough, though I doubted my own courage in those moments. I placed my hand lightly on his shoulder and felt him jump beneath my touch.

"It's alright," I soothed, "Almost done. Just grab it, Neville, just do it."

He raised his hand timidly, his fingers glancing the glass case, leaving a smudge on the top right corner as he flipped the lid back. It banged against the mahogany wood of the ornate bookcase and the sorting hat stirred lightly. Rising up on his toes, Neville arched his wrist, grabbing the hilt of the sword and pulling it from the case, careful to not scratch it against the rigid glass walls. He eased it down, I could only imagine what those rubies weighed.

He held it gingerly in both hands, surveying it like an employee of Gringotts. We look on in silence. It had been years since I had seen the sword, the egg sized rubies in the hilt, the goblin made metals that compiled the blade. After weeks of planning, all of the sacrifices made, all the pains endured: here it was, in our hands, literally within our grasp. I felt a fluttering in my stomach that I couldn't quite place. I was excited, here in our hands was the means to end the war, the weapon Harry could use against You-Know-Who. But at the same time, here was the weapon to end the war, and that kind of power, that kind of responsibility, it was humbling, like nothing I had ever felt before.

"We should probably get going…" Luna whispered after a time. And she was right, we needed to move. There was no reason to dawdle except that we were all stricken dumb by the magnitude of what we were doing, of the power of what we had in our hands. She pulled herself away, and I was only moments behind her as her hand reached out for the door handle leading back towards the rotating staircase.

"Neville," I whispered, glancing over my shoulder, seeing him standing there at the case, stock still, his eyes fixed on the sorting hat. It was that far-away stare I had seen once before on his round, pallid face, one I never thought I'd see again since the Hall ofn Prophecy. "Neville."

"We have to go," Luna hissed at me, checking her own watch. I nodded for her to go down first, to keep a look out, plan our next move, as I turned back towards Neville.

"Neville," I whispered again, my eyes darting between his and the lifeless wizard's hat. "Neville, we need to go." I reached out to touch his shoulder and he jumped, surprised, as if he had just noticed I was there, as if he had just remembered what we were doing.

"Spoke to me," his voice was strange, broken. He cleared his throat before turning to me, his face twisted with confusion, "It spoke to me."

"Right," I nodded, taking the sword from his grasp gingerly and stowing it beneath my robes as best as I could, holding it in place by locking my left elbow against my body. "Well, we need to go…"

"Uh.. right, yeah," he stammered, shaking himself. I didn't wait for him to fully recover, instead I grabbed his wrist, tugging him with me and towards the staircase. As I glanced back to make sure he was still with me, to ask him how much time we had left, to mask my own nerves by putting on a brave face for him I saw he was turned away from me, his hand limp in my vice like grip as I pulled him behind me, like a small child being pulled away from a desired toy by a busy mother, his eyes still staring towards the hat in a glassy fashion.

I pulled him roughly on to the staircase and felt it begin to rotate as the door close with a snap behind us. We stepped into the bright lights and smooth marble of the seventh floor. Luna was there, waiting for us, hopping back and forth from one foot to another on the other side of one of the immobilized stone gargoyles. I nodded towards her and she checked her watch again though I knew she had practically memorized our time line.

"We're late," she whispered, her face grave but her eyes round.

"By how much?" I asked, my hand still locked around Neville's wrist. She checked her watch again, a habit, but it was Neville who answered.

"Almost one and a half minutes, one thirty seven.. thirty eight," he whispered.

"So we….?" I began but it was Neville again who cut across, regaining himself, his shoulders back, his head high, becoming a leader that it would be easy to fall in line behind.

"We run," he whispered, and took off down the corridor towards the other side of the castle, heading for the Astronomy Tower. I nodded to Luna who gritted her teeth and took off after him. I over took them easily, coming to the first corner and skidding silently to a halt before peering around the rough stone into a vacant corridor. I glance over my shoulder, waving them on before taking off once more, heading for the far end of the castle, taking the turns: a left, two rights, another left, head straight, without thought and with the ease of Hogwart's sixth year.

I came to a final halt beneath the spiral staircase that would lead to the under belly of the tower, gripping the cold, iron railing in my sweaty palm. Neville skidded to a stop, his shoes sliding on the sleek marble, and leaned against the stone archway, pressing his cheek into the cold rock, his face red and sweaty. Luna came gasping into view around the last corner, a few leg lengths away, clutching a stitch in her side, her breath coming in gasps.

"You alright?" I asked, and she shot me a mildly dirty look, one that envied my long legs and easy stride. I felt uneasy, wanting to say something, praise her in some way that would take the embarrassment of a red, sweaty face from her eyes, but before I could I heard a noise from above us, and from the round eyes and aghast looks I received from my two accomplices, I knew that in my anxiety I wasn't just hearing things.

"What was that?" I hissed, realizing after I'd said it that they were not any more likely to know that I was. I turned to head up the steely staircase, placing one foot lightly in front of the other when Luna lunged forward and grabbed my arm, preventing me from taking another step.

"You don't know who could be up there," she warned, and of course she was right, I didn't know, but I was banking on the off chance that it was hardcore Ravenclaw racking up study hours or maybe a few randy Hufflepuffs hoping for a few hours of privacy.

"We're running out of time," I told her, though she already knew. I shook my head, "I've got to see. We've got to go. The brooms are up there, it's our only way out."

Reluctantly she let me go, her hand trailing away down my arm as I ascending the spiral staircase, my palm sweaty against the cool metal, my wand held tight in my hand. As I approached the landing I began to hunch over, crawl the remainder to the top stair, my knees bumping against the unforgiving metal, the sword hitched awkwardly at my side. The fingers of my wand hand wrapping around the final stair, my other hand in a firm grip on the railing, I peaked my head up into the shadows. I blinked rapidly, my eyes adjusting to the lack of light, the cold winter air blowing my hair across my face. I sat in the silence, my thighs burning from the awkward squat in which I had posed myself. I was about to give it up as a bad job, as jumpy nerves, and was beginning to wonder if Neville could see up my skirt when…

"How long s'it been?" he whined. I froze, I knew that voice.

" 'Bout a hour now," the other responded.

"I'm near sick o' this shite, le's call it," Crabbe groaned. I heard shuffling and could assumed that he had been sitting about as uncomfortably as I was.

"Draco said wait," Goyle cut through, " 'E said ta wait for 'em ta show."

"Yeah? 'Nd Draco s'not been so right of late, 'as 'e?"

There was an uncomfortable silence, I could almost see Goyle shifting uncomfortably, his eyes down cast, "No, 'e 'asn't."

"Is that Weasley bitch," Crabbe hissed, fire behind his voice, "She's gone done somp'in to 'im."

"Nah, don' think is tha'," Goyle whispered, "But don' let 'im 'ear ya say it."

"Yeah? Wha' is't then?" Crabbe shot back, challenging, defiant.

"Dunno," Goyle sighed, "S'aint right, though…"

They fell back into silence and I turned to creep back down the stairs, I had to tell Luna and Neville, we were running out of time, something had to be done. My first thought would be to attack them, avada them off the tower just as Snape had done to Dumbledore, leave a message that could sink in. But the bodies, they'd know we had left and it would be safer for us if they had to search the castle and the grounds again, it would buy us more time. With Crabbe and Goyle still alive, but unable to tell them, could we still get away, maybe with Obliviate and a lot of luck.

My knees cracked in protest as I shifted uneasily on the stair, sliding my feet backwards to the edge where I could lower one foot, then the other, and make my way slowly back down the stairs towards where Neville and Luna stood waiting, hardly daring to breathe. I began inching backwards, making slow progress of the arduous work until the balls of my feet felt the edge. I stepped backwards, stepping down, one foot and then the other, and began to slide backwards once more, inching my way to the edge. I felt the edge in moments, my knee knocking against the metal in protest as I again unfolded my long legs from beneath me to step back again. I put my left foot down, firm against the stair, and sought to follow with my right, but as I moved, as I shifted my weight, my foot was caught in my robes, and I was tumbling backwards faster than I had intended, my butt banging against the stairs, my back cracking against the metal. My arm shot out, grabbing for the railing, my sweaty palm skidding against the cool surface. I had managed to pull myself up right, my legs sprawled before me, one of my heels grazing the landing, the blood from my bruises knees running upwards and under my skirt.

"Wha' was that?" Crabbe yelled, and in a moment I knew they would be on their feet, staring down at me.

"Gin!" Neville called from the darkness below, I could barely made out his silhouette in the dim light from the corridor as be charge for the stairs, his feet pounding against the metal, the frame jostling beneath me.

"Well lookee wha' we got 'ere," Crabbe leered, his crooked teeth showing a malicious grin, "The Weasley bitch."

Goyle peaked down at me from over Crabbe's shoulder, wetting his lips, his eyes darting between Crabbe and myself, and all the while I could hear Neville below us, pounding his way up the stairs, screaming for me, "Gin! Gin answer me!"

It was like I was struck dumb; I couldn't have said anything if I wanted to, my hand in a vice like grip around the railing, the only thing preventing me from tumbling back down and crumpling into a heap where Neville and I would collide. I was vaguely aware of the pain in my back, and the stitch in my side, my left side, where the sword was hidden. I would only hope I hadn't skewered myself on it as I felt the familiar trickle of hot blood flowing from beneath my blouse.

"Draco was righ', we would find somp'in in'erestin 'ere tonigh'," Crabbe jeered as he slowly began to descend towards me, kicking my feet aside, stepping over my calves, my bloodied knees, kicking out at the blood soaked hem of my skirt with the heel of his shoe revealing my inner thighs. He grabbed from the railing, his ham like fist poised just above mine, his other reaching out to smear the bloody streams flowing up my legs, as he leaned down into my face and whispered, "If I didn' know be'er, Weasley, I'd say yer blood's jus' as clea' as mine."

He brought his fingers to his face, mashing his thumb and first two fingers together, feeling my blood on his hands, "Almos'…"

I should have seen it coming, but he was so quick that it caught me off guard. It wasn't until he had left his hand print across my cheek that I had realized he'd struck me. I gasped, clenching my wand in my hand, ready to curse him into the next life when someone beat me to it.

"Stupefy!" yelled a voice from behind me, a few stairs down from me. I watched Crabbe's ugly, gleeful face lean closer towards mine. I crushed myself against the railing underneath his outstretched arm in time for him to tumble past me.

I could scarcely right myself before my savior was grabbing me roughly from under the arms and pulling me to my feet, clutching my shoulders to turn me around, strands of hair catching on my lips, my clumsy feet tripping on the stairs, my bloodied knees knocking together as I turned to face those hard eyes.

"Hello, _Darling_," he whispered, his voice low and deadly.

I felt my breath catch in my chest, like I'd been plunged into icy cold water. I was blind not to have seen this coming, especially after seeing Crabbe and Goyle staking out the tower. Draco would be nearby, of course he would, but…

"Trying to figure out how I knew?" he asked, his eyes wide in mock pity, his fingers biting into my flesh as he read my mind. Glancing over his shoulder I noted Neville a little ways down, just past the turn in the stairs, bound from head to foot with tight, vice like ropes, the kind "_Incarcarus_" would unleash. His eyes were wide, his mouth was bound, a mixture of blood and spittle pooling against the cold metal where his cheek lay. I was stupid to think he could be coming to my rescue, to have the hope that he would make, that the arms that had hoisted me to me feet were his. It was the perfect plan, and like everything else in my life, it was had come crashing down around me.


	15. Chapter 15

He sat down across from me. You could say he was composed, but I knew better. Pulling his high-backed chair closer to the table, he righted himself, still not meeting my eyes, grabbing his elegantly folded napkin from the plate before him, shaking it out and draping it easily across his lap. A move so routine you could almost tell he had done it millions of times. He reached for his goblet which immediately filled with a blood colored wine; I could almost smell the fruity mixture as my own goblet began to fill. "To us," he whispered, his eyes finally meeting mine and I found myself wondering if I looked a blank as he did. He held his glass aloft, waiting for me to take my own, but after a time when I didn't, and he hadn't expected me to, he merely gave his own a flick in mid air, as if clinking cups with someone neither of us could see, before draining the contents down in one.

He slammed the goblet down against the white linen table cloth, the circular base cracking, a hair line fracture in glass that was nothing compared to the crevice in his life. He raised his wand and I flinched. He pretended not to notice, but the dark shadows that crossed his eyes let me know he saw everything, he had always seen everything. With all the pretense of a lazy flick of the wrist he repaired his goblet in a thrice and watched with more precision than necessary as it began to fill itself once more.

He stowed his wand beneath his dinner jacket, the shiny lapels and dazzling cufflinks catching on the flickering light of the candles floating above us. The diamonds at my throat felt heavy and cold, the dress he commanded I wear was light and black, flowing to the floor, and open slit on the right that reached up to mid thigh. I'd never been good at walking in heels and the ropes the bound my ankles and wrists did nothing to make things easier.

They had taken Luna that night. She had run for help when Neville had started bounding up the stairs after me, thinking it was the Death Eaters and not their junior squad that had me screaming. I can't imagine who she thought she was going after, because I doubt she was running to save her own skin; that wasn't like her. They found her, bound her, taken her in less than a moment, or so I was told later.

Neville paid dearly, as he always does, for his heroics. If this was "dark times", and I'd never seen darker, we would have clapped him on the shoulder and told him how his Gran would be proud. He knew it himself, and it would be my guess that was why he did, every plan, every defiance, every move he was one step closer to becoming the son his parents would have shaped had they been sane enough to do so. I got it, I understood. We were all fighting for something, right? At least that's what I told myself as Draco carried me to Snape's office, my bloodied knees knocking together, my head lolling against his shoulder, and I could imagine I looked as hopeless as I felt. Goyle following behind us, our wands and the sword clenched in his ham-like fist, dragging Neville by his feet, his blood leaving a faint trail that at the time I thought Luna could have used to find us, rescue us some how, but she was already gone. Seen as the brains behind our operation, she wouldn't stand a chance.

We were taken to the Headmaster's office, the scene of the crime. Snape was waiting for us, poised behind his desk like a vulture ready to strike. The Carrows practically crackled and sparked with excitement, pacing behind his desk, grins of wicked glee plastered to their faces as they fiddled their wands, eager to be unleashed. McGonagall looked just as frantic as they did, pacing before the two open chairs meant for Neville and myself, her hand flying to cover her mouth as we entered, her eyes darting between Severus and her broken students. I willed her not to say anything, but I could almost feel her firing up.

He dropped me lightly in a chair, almost lovingly, and moved to stand behind it, his palms leaning heavily on my shoulders. I remembered years ago when Harry had rescued me from the basilisk, sitting in his same chair, my parents arms' surrounding me as I told my story, as I cried almost begging for mercy, begging to not be expelled. I wouldn't get a kindly smile and a twinkle of knowing blue eyes this time, no. Dumbledore was gone, and it wasn't every say that I knew it.

Snapes eyes were like black holes as they sucked me in. It was only when they had dragged Neville in that I was able to tear myself away and meet his eyes instead. I wanted to cry, I wanted to say I was sorry for being so nosy, so curious. We could have doubled back, we could have stolen brooms from the quidditch pitch, taken the thestrals from the forest. All thoughts that came easily to me know, but were lost on me in the moment.

Goyle hoisted him in a chair easily enough, his eyes dropping, looking as hopeless as I knew I did when Madame Pomfrey bustled in, stopping short at the sight of us, a bottle of antiseptic in one hand and a mound of swabs in the other. I could tell by her eyes that this wasn't what she had signed on for, that she wasn't prepared to clean the prisoners before torture, so to speak. Because we all knew it was coming, Amycus hadn't looks so happy in weeks as he did now seeing us sitting there, our heads hanging, our faces bloodied.

"If you wouldn't mind, Poppy, Miss Weasley and Mr. Longbottom need tending to," Snape's deep voice announced casually as if we had gotten into a light scuffle of sorts, reminding her she couldn't back out either. I saw her exchange a glance with Professor McGonagall, who gave a stiff nod, before setting to work. She knelt before me, taking my face in her hands, her soft, fleshy palms pressing lightly into my cheeks. Her eyes were sad as she turned my head this way and that, sweeping my hair behind my ears as she surveyed a cut over my eye.

My skin burned from the potions she dabbed it with, cleaning this wound, repairing that gash. "It might scar," she has whispered, speaking of the laceration in my side where the blade had fallen into me. She had pulled back my robes to a stream of blood, and I saw how she had bitten her lip as she set to work. I didn't care what scars showed, regardless this night would be with me for life whether I liked it or not. The night of almosts: almost triumphs, almost freedoms, almost deaths.

Neville himself was suffering from severe rope burn and missing a molar or two. Goyle cracked his knuckles as Neville winced when his new teeth came in, obviously feeling more than the "slight discomfort" Madame Pomfrey had warned.

"Thank you, Poppy," Snape announced as if revealing his delight over a wonderful evening of remarkable dinner guests rather than a schoolmaster's office that reeked of blood and fear.

I saw he start, bite her lip once more, her eyes downcast, hoping for the appeal, hoping she could plea that our health and well-being was dependent upon a night of rest in which time she would hope that Amycus and Alecto would be dismissed and perhaps we would be thankfully expelled rather than mercifully tortured.

"That will be all, thank you," Snape repeated, his voice the picture of respect and duty, yet his eyes were cold and apathetic. I saw her shoot a tearful glance towards McGonagall, who nodded solemnly, discretely, before taking her leave.

The door had barely clicked close when Amycus had taken the room, crossing it in three quick strides, back handing my across the face with such verbosity that the chair I was rooted to was kicked up on two legs before slamming back on four.

I gasped, my hand flying to my face, feeling the hot sting of his anger.

"Where is he?" he bellowed into my face. I felt Draco's clam hands fingering my shoulders lightly; he was allowing this, he could stop it at any moment with the words "I don't think my father" but he was allowing this"

"Severus!" McGonagall snapped, he voice as close to a road as I have ever heard, "Is this what you have brought me hear to witness? You make a mockery of mere students? I was requested here under the presumption that I am there head of house and therefore would have assisted you in dealing with their thievery!" Her eyes flashed as she drew breath, "But never in my days will I allow you to attack these students!"

"Allow me?" Snape asked quietly, Alecto cackled. Amycus, too drunk on his own rage, had heard just a jibe, and was pacing before me like a mad dog ready to pounce.

McGonagall drew herself up to full height, "Yes," she breathed, "The man you murdered, a better man and headmaster than you can hope to be, would never have allowed such behavior. In his steed, nor shall I."

Snape's eyes bore into her, yet she never waivered, her stance tall, her mouth stretched into a thin line of anger. I saw him sigh momentarily before whispering, "Amycus, you may go."

The rabid eyes before me danced, but I saw them check as if unsure of what was said, surely this would not be all the fun he was allowed to have, surely he would be given a longer leash and all young flesh he would paw at. He hadn't even started on the boy yet, there was still fun to be had, but…

"You may go," Snape repeated, "Your sister as well."

"Blood traitor," Amycus spat, wiping the remaining dribble his chin with the back of his hand before heading for the door.

"I'd rather be their blood traitor than his pet," I whispered, watching as he attempted to double back for me, starting for me once more, orders be damned, as his sister, her eyes harsh slits in her round face, laid a stubby hand on his shoulder, reminding him of the place he held in this game, and to be thankful that it was under the rule of their master rather than the mercy of our Aurors.

The silence was pressing. I wasn't sure Neville was even with us anymore or if he was dropped unconscious from the pain and exhaustion. I knew I wasn't far behind him, but for the blood throbbing in my cheek and the long, white fingers pawing at my throat from the man behind me, stoic and composed amidst anger and fear; Daddy would be proud.

"What to become of my students?" McGonagall asked at last.

"_My _students," Snape replied with a small smile, "Will be dealt with accordingly. Mr. Longbottom will be sent home on the train with a letter for his Grandmother. Due to his recent behavior he will be attending mandatory detentions with Professor Hagrid weekly as well as be placed under the supervision of a professor of your choosing that will be considered responsible for his actions. He will not be placed on academic probation."

McGonagall nodded, her agreement to the terms, "Myself or Pomona will do. I will speak to her this evening about it. And Miss Weasley, the same?"

Snape smiled once more and I could hear Goyle guffaw from somewhere behind my line of vision, "Miss Weasley would also be subjected to mandatory detentions with Professor Hagrid as well as be placed under the care of one of the professors here at Hogwarts, however do to the level of her involvement in tonight's activities she has been placed for an interment on the academic probation list by vote of the school governors. She is here by suspended from Hogwarts for the time being and shall be placed into the care of a third party until her academic status has been reviewed and determined."

He spoke as if he had swallowed a textbook. I knew I should be scared, I knew I should be beside myself with fear, if it weren't for the fact that in my haste and attentions to listen the words had slipped into one ear and drained from the other. McGonagall, however, hadn't missed a word.

"A third party member?" she replied slowly, "Who does…"

"School Governor Malfoy has presented himself for the task," Snape responded kindly, as if delivering the delightful news instead of my death warrant. I could almost feel the glee radiating from behind me.

"Lucius? Lucius Malfoy? She is to be sent to Malfoy Manor?" McGonagall choked. "Sure there is some other…"

"The arrangements have already been made," Snape cut across calmly, "A member of the Malfoy employment should be arriving momentarily to transport Miss Weasley and her trunk to the estate."

"The Holiday, the Christmas Holiday starts, surely we couldn't send Miss Weasley home for the duration of the break and process her case upon the start of school?" McGonagall insisted, searching for loop holes where ever she could find them.

Snape merely shook his head, providing only that the "arrangements had been made" as his final answer and decision. Before I knew it I was being pulled to my feet by a gleeful Draco, McGongall looked, for the first time in her life, helpless, as she watched me being pulled from the headmaster's office into the lifeless marble corridors of the empty school. Neville was slumped in his chair, he'd be thrust on the train in a few hours' time, awaken with no recollection and no clues.

Meanwhile my stomach boiled, hot and angry, with fear. My parents, what would they think, what would they do, upon receiving the owl that would tell them that I had been taken as good as hostage at Malfoy Manor? I'd botched it, I had ruined everything. Here I was to be taken as bait for Harry, and he would come, Voldemort knew he would come for me. And in that they would have him surrounded.

I had scarcely noted that Draco had lead me through the castle out onto the grounds. A sad looking house-elf was waiting for us on the front steps, her force cheerfulness only made things worse as she took my hand and turned on the spot.

Hogwarts had vanished, and instead I found myself on the rippling lawns on Malfoy Manor. The great estate laid out before me, the towering mansion to my back with its high plated windows and unforgiving marble, more a museum to misery than a home.

"Come along, darling," Draco whispered in my ear, taking my hand gingerly in his own, pulling my towards the ornate front doors, my feet heavy and unwilling, stumbling and sliding on the gravel walk. Snow had begun to fall, and it would be almost romantic, the way he strolled in the moonlight as he spoke to me fondly of the Manor and his plans for my stay, that is if it weren't so sick and twisted.

"You've hardly touched your dinner," he commented, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with the napkin from his lap before laying it across his soiled plate of the remains of the meal.

The plate laid before me still smelled as delicious as it did when the elves had brought it out some half an hour before. I bit at the cloth tied at the base of my neck that was laid through my mouth, quickly wetting it with my anxious saliva. He hasn't loosen my gag in days, two at least, I was starving. He was punishing me, playing house hadn't gone exactly according to his plan.

My eyes still fixed upon the meal, I heard his chair being pushed back from the table, his highly polished shoes snapping smartly against the marble. He pulled the napkin from beside my plate and dropped it upon the floor before resting one knee upon it, his arm stretched out over the back of my chair.

"This is silly, darling," he cooed, as if we were having a meaningless lover's spat and I was merely being stubborn. "Won't you come to my room this evening? We can work this out."

He took my bound wrists in his hand and gave them a light squeeze. It was my determination to hate him that had landed me in this mess in the first place. It had been that first night, he had come to my room, sought to enter my bed… I'd smacked him.

"Come to my room," he whispered, his eyes wide and kind, "It is Christmas Eve, after all."

He wouldn't force me, that wasn't his game. He wanted me to say that I would come willingly, that I wanted to. I bit deeply into the gag to prevent myself from hurling muffled insults at him, begging him to release me. All things I knew were futile. It was a show I was sick of running, lines I was tired of rehearsing. I was taking for granted the power I had, the freedom that could lie at my fingertips, Harry's safety. I didn't want to play along anymore, but I had to, it literally meant my own survival now as much as his.

But I had taken too long to respond, he had seen my reserve.

"Very well," he sighed, sliding his hand beneath his shining lapels, revealed a tiny vial of opaque liquid hidden in an interior pocket, "I didn't think it would come to this."

My mind was racing. Was it a poison? Veritaserum? Was he going to maim me, kill me? Had my luck finally run its course? It wasn't until he unstoppered the cork and I saw the tell-tale curls of vapor, the essence: like the grass of the quidditch pitch, the sweet cinnamon of Mum's apple pie, the soap Harry used that smelt like the forest after a rain…

He took my jaw tightly in his hands, pulling at the gag with his thumb. I hastily breathed the unhindered air as he whispered, his eyes cold and hard, "I didn't want it to come to this…"

He poured the contents into my stammering mouth, my legs kicks against the ropes that held them, I tried to push him away, but my hands were useless. It tasted like champagne, bubbly and too sweet, as it flooded my mouth, dribbling on my lips. He stood back his eyes watching and waiting, dropping the vial on the table where it clanged against the gold encrusted plate, piled high with a neat, precise arrangement of lamb with mint sauce, potatoes that had now gone hard and cold, roasted asparagus that still hint of garlic.

I turned my head away from him and spat, release the potion like a torrent from my mouth, a geyser that protested his advances for love and romance. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him raise his hand, draw it back, ready to strike.

"I'll come I cried," my voice high and frantic, tears brimming at my eyes, stinging against the burning residue of Amortencia in my mouth, "To your room, I'll come!"

His expression softened at once, "You will? Oh Ginerva, oh my darling." He knelt awkwardly, cradling me in his arms.

I would spend the night in those arms, tender as their controlled me, listening as he whispered he needed me, whispered he loved me into my ear. I responded with my own forced sweet nothings, gasping and breathy I would tell him I loved him, for I would enfold the devil himself into my arms, tell him that I loved him if it meant Harry's safety and my freedom.


	16. Chapter 16

I thought I knew what I was doing, I thought I had this under control. Of course those thoughts started to dwindle the when Draco had sent Neville to the infirmary for the _first_ time, they started to falter when he had dragged me into Slytherin tower for a few hours of heavy petting that exceeded the bounds of my comfort zones, but they crashed completely when he found me, sword in tow, seeking to escape, and they were obliterated when I was sent into the custody of his evil, twisted father for a hearing I was bound to be improperly tried during. However, they weren't nearly so imaginary and macabre as when I crawled into his bed with him, to lie with him beneath the sheets on Christmas Eve. For someone who had thought of themselves as "experienced" and cunning, never to be backed into a corner… it was about time I admitted I was out of my league.

* * *

><p>My room was down the hall; I was provisioned my own quarters with a full bedroom and bathroom for my personal use. He took all the measures of being a courteous gentleman since my arrival… starving and manipulation aside. I tread the carpet lightly, not that I would have been heard through the plush fibers in a practically empty house, but more that I didn't want to reach the door of rich mahogany and fine wrought handles before me. I wasn't sure what he would have wanted me to wear, for the past few dinner evenings he had my wardrobe selected and laid out for me by a kindly house elf who responded to my silence in sad smiles. During the day I wandered about my quarters in jeans and a sweater, the only bit of myself I was able to steal away to my prison, and I surely wasn't going to be wearing it to his bed. So there I was, strolling towards his room in the cold dark of Malfoy Manor, feeling the chill from the snow that had accumulated on the windows, in nothing more than my under things.<p>

His door was ajar, I pushed it lightly and it swung freely. His room was similar to mine with high ceilings and tall windows. His bed was a four poster, but much larger and grander than the ones at school. His suit jacket was thrown over the back of a high winged chair, his tie slung across the armrest. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his shoulders slumped forward as he stared out the nearest window at the wintery midnight moon. He looked up as I approached, his eyes settled on mine, a confident smile spreading across his face.

"Darling," he greeted in his characteristic drawl, reaching his arm out to me as if there was no doubt in his mind I would show. And why wouldn't I come after he had starved me into submission? He wanted to create his own reality, manipulate the events, but deep down he knew it was a façade, the canker he would try to soothe with the angry and domineering manifestation he held over my head. It was my job to fuel the façade, to keep up act… the show must go on.

I took his hand in mine as he stood, drawing me roughly to him, his silk shirt pressing into my chest as his arms encircled me. I rested my hands on his shoulders and tried to smile, hoping my reluctance would be interpreted as shyness. We stood there in the silence, the moon providing the only light in the room, and he just smiled down at me, just smiled, like there wasn't a care in the world. And I am sure, for him, there wasn't.

I couldn't take it any longer, him looking at me as I grew ever more self-conscious standing before him, his hands on my hips, in my underwear… his bed inches away and my anxiety mounting. I took a deep breath and leaned forward into him, lifting up on my tip-toes, bumping my lips with his, my mouth on his, more like, with more force than could be labeled "sexy", but rather "haphazard". I pressed into him, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my knees into his so as to scoot him back to the bed where we would fall, him into bliss and, I into shame.

* * *

><p>I could feel the sun on my face the next morning and instinctively turned away, pulling my pillow over my head as I went. Christmas morning, the day I had always looked forward to with eager anticipation, even after realizing Santa wasn't the one leaving me presents and eating my doughy cookies. Waking up to Holiday French toast, Ron always traipsing to the table last, opening out gifts around the table, mom's sweaters, dad's muggle trinkets...<p>

My eyes flashed open as I recalled there would none of that this year, I felt that ache in belly at my longing to be home, at the guilt I felt thinking of my parent's fear… at the shame I felt lying in another man's bed as Harry ran about Merlin-knows-where hunting down way to defeat…

"Darling?" Fuck… he was awake, and double fuck, he had seen that I was, too.

Without waiting for an answer he snuck his arm around my shoulders, pulling me to him across the satiny sheets, my back meeting his chest which was oddly chilled. I felt like the fresh kill being dragged to its doom by the caveman.

I felt his breath against my ear as he pressed his cheek into my hair and noticed that I was hardly breathing myself. I left out a deep shuddering sigh, one he more than likely deluded himself into believing was one of bliss rather than determination. What did the Malfoys do on holiday? I had always imagined them … well, let's be frank, I had never bothered to imagine Draco Malfoy's Christmas. But now that I was trapped in the depths of it I couldn't help but wonder what events were to take place next, after a few days of starving torture, angry huffs, glances of resentment and imploring when our eyes would meet, and onto the delight he had fabricated for himself, the Christmas Eve in the arms of the one he would force to love, and waking up to her cold shoulder, frostier than the window panes of fresh Christmas snow.

What next, skiing in the Alps? Are we really going all out on this lie? This concocted reality he had formulated under the pretense that I would be in the strict guardianship of one of the school governors for my heinous _crime. _And come to think of it, I hadn't seen his parents, anyone aside from house elves who avoided my gaze, since I had first arrived. Not that I imagined the Malfoys to be the chummiest of families, I just couldn't fathom that they wouldn't want to shower one another with their endless riches on the most materialistic of holidays. I found myself gnawing at the inside of my cheek as my curiosity got the better of me, and I finally blurted…

"Will your parents be joining us for Christmas tea?"

On the surface it could be seen as an innocence enough question for a girlfriend to ask, but I felt his bare chest tense against my back immediately, his muscles tightening in his long, wiry arms that encased me. I bit down hard, momentarily tasting blood from the shredded flesh I had been gnawing as I awaited his response, expecting violence and anger that would spill me from his bed in a naked pile as I scrambled for the door.

Instead he grabbed my closer, rib-breakingly close, the closeness that reminded of me Bill's bear hugs and wrestling with Ron for the most recent Cleansweep.

"They're on holiday," he replied stiffly, elusively, and naturally I wanted to know more. But I bit my tongue, literally, and held back. With only Draco to keep tabs on me, with no one else watching, save a handful of drone-like house elves, maybe, just maybe… I could make it home this Christmas.

"I got you something," I spouted, the words leaving my mouth before their meaning had properly registered and I realized I would have to produce a gift to accompany them.

"You did?" he asked, and I could tell by his voice that he was truly shocked.

"Uh, yeah… I just, I have to hide it…" I stammered. I could feel myself turning red, the Weasley red, and I would bet he could have felt the heat emanating from me.

"Hide it, why?" he asked, his voice had yet to take a skeptical tone so I rushed on.

"Yeah, hide it, of course, because… uh, well, that's what we do at my house. Like a scavenger hunt, like a surprise… We, uh, we wake up on Christmas morning and have to hunt for our gifts… like, like a game," I invented wildly, hoping that my many years of bold faced lying for Fred and George were paying off.

"Alright," he responded slowly, "Does this mean I have to hide your gift as well?

"You got me something?" I asked, turning to face him for the first time. His pale gray eyes were clear and free of sleep though his white blonde hair was slightly disheveled, ice white stubble littering his high cheeks. I reached my hand up to touched, like sandpaper, and watched his eyes soften, though only minutely. He would be a man always on guard… I just had to be clever, confident, I had to be two steps ahead.. . at least.

"Of course, Darling," he smiled, and his arrogance was back, "Waste an opportunity to shower my someone beautiful with something to make her sparkle?"

Yep, as if he had read my mind, but nothing could have prepared me as he pulled away, turned towards his bed side cabinet, sliding open one of the top drawers to reveal an ominous velvet case, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, and just big enough to hold…

I gasped, literally covering my mouth with my hands, pulling my sheets about my chest as I sat up to join him. A ring, a beautiful ring, diamonds and emeralds to pay a king's ransom, ornately arranged in the shape of a two serpents, intricately intertwined as they would wrap their way around my ring finger, forming a delicate heart as their heads met.

"It's… it's…" I stuttered, beyond words.

"Beautiful?" he finished for me. I nodded though it was far from the truth for the word that had been playing upon my lips was 'Terrifying'… it was terrifying, and I sat horrified as he pulled my left hand away from my gapping mouth, sliding the serpents into place. I tried my best to smile and look pleased, as well as prey could smile and look pleased as it stares into the hungry jaws of the predator patiently awaiting to devour them.

"This is… this is a…" I stammered again, letting off a shakey laugh as I forced composure, trying to think of something Fluer would say, witty, clever, and enchanting in this situation, "This is a ring with diamonds, not a _diamond ring_… right?"

He smiled at me almost indulgently, almost as if my broke-back poor upbringing was all he could do not to roll his eyes at my naivety, "Darling, don't you think that when that day comes it will something more grand?"

I was laughing almost maniacally now, the sounds coming from between my lips hardly matching the fear in my eyes. _When that day comes…_

"My turn!" I announced, practically vaulting from the bed, pulling the sheet with me. I forced myself to smile and look mischievous while my knees knocked together beneath my satiny dress with the imaginably high thread count. I expected him to be taken aback, to be angry that I hadn't spent more time awing over his gift, but instead he smiled at me, more than likely telling himself that I was crazy in love with him. Crazy, definitely, but in love? I must be if I was risking my neck like this, but it was for him… not for him at all...

"Count to a hundred!" I shouted over my shoulder as I sped away, "Then come find me!"

"When I do, you better be wearing just that!" he laughed.

"Maybe!" I winked, turning to face him just before I slammed the door, running down the hallway in a fury. Now was my time, time to flee, I had to get out here, but I hardly knew where _here_ was let alone how to leave.

I raced down the stairs, the spirals making me dizzy as I sprinted, my bare feet hardly making a sound against the plush carpet as my heart slammed against my ribs, pounding in my chest. At the foot of the stairs I struggled, left or right? I was sure it was a left, but there.. to the right, more stairs? I was at the peak of my indecision when I heard him call out from above me…

"Ready or not, here I come!"

He sounded as merry as a child, and I suppose for a man who had never been given a childhood, now was as good of a time as any to continue playing pretend.

I rushed to the right and through the first set of tall doors I met. The room was dark with a dank air that smelled of neglect. I fumbled across the room in the blinding darkness, my knees colliding with foot stools, my hips careening with the arm rests of heavy, leather chairs. I had made it to the far wall, the far corner, when my feet caught on the edge of the carpet and I flew into harsh stone wall. Thankfully I had knocked the heavy velvet drapes to one side, unfortunately I had also over turned an ancient looking umbrella stand beside an ornate fireplace I had no idea was there. I pulled roughly at the drapes, allowing myself inches of sunlight. I hastily grabbed at the umbrella stand, and began jamming everything from canes to fireplace pokers inside the cylindrical wrought iron.

"Darling?" his voice was unsure, far off but still close enough to cause me to freeze, my hand around the heavy head of an expertly carved snakelike walking stick that I was in the process of shoving into the stand. I was just thinking I could drive behind a chair, right the curtain to darkness, when something caught my eye… there, on the floor where the rug had been pulled aside by my clumsy feet… an old iron wrought ring set into the wood floor. Walking stick in hand, I bent over, feeling the old, course metal with my fingertips, shifting it from side to side until I was able to prize one side from the floor. A trapdoor! A way out!

I pulled, hard, managing to break the wooden door away from the floorboards. I threw the door to one side, it landed against the high back of one of the surrounding chairs as I plunged into the darkness, clutching the walking stick to my chest as my feet padded the cold, damp, stone floor, my other arm thrown out before, feeling the cold air and nothing more, until…

I collided with heavy iron bars, thick enough that I could scarcely wrap my hand around them, producing large gaps that I could fit my arm through, reaching into further blackness.

"Damn," I hissed, pulling my arm back through and resting my head against the rough, rusting metal.

"Hello?" I froze. The voice was young, floating to me from through the darkness. I strained my eyes though I knew I would see nothing. Should I respond? I couldn't find a reason not to. The voice came from beyond the bars, they couldn't reach me, couldn't hurt me.

"Hello?" I responded, trying to sound braver than I felt as I hear footsteps, footsteps approaching the grate, hands grasping the bars. I took an involuntary step backwards, I could feel hot breath on my face, I could practically sense their eyes searching for me.

"Who is it, my dear?" came a second voice, a man's voice, fragile and broken but by something more than age. Who were they, why were they here?

"I think…" the girl's voice was so close now, her hot breath rushing against my face as she spoke, nothing compared to her cold, clammy hands as they reached through the bars for me, grabbing my shoulder, my neck, sliding towards my face, pawing at my hair.

I screamed, smacking the hands, backing away into a rough stone wall, I screamed so loud I barely heard her say my name.

* * *

><p>"Is this where they took you?" I asked her, clutching her hands with mine.<p>

"Mr. Ollivander has been here longer, months longer. They've taken him to make wands for the others, answer questions on wandlore…" her voice drifted away but it had lost its once dreamy quality.

"Luna, I've got to get you out of here," I whimpered, "Maybe I can talk to him, ask him…"

"Ginny, no! You mustn't! You're not to know we're down here. If you did he would move us, or worse: hurt you for snooping. He will guess you were trying to escape, he'll know," her voice was strong, determined.

"Then what do I…" I started up again, feeling the tears behind my eyes.

"Get yourself out," she whispered, "Get out, find Harry. He'll know what to do. I'll be safe here, I've got Mr. Ollivander, and you've only yourself. Get out, Ginny… and if you can't do it for yourself, then do it for Harry, do it for me."

"I'll get you out, Luna…" I whispered, I squeezed her hand once more, tight as I could, before turning around and running as fast as I dare up back up the dark corridor towards the trap door. My shins slammed into the stone steps, I stumbled up into the darkened room, the sliver of light illuminating the dank corner of the room.

I scrambled with the trap door, trying my best to pull it up right and then closed as quietly as I able. I'd already been missing for longer than could be expected, surely he would assume I was up to something by now, that my clever Christmas game was merely a ruse.

I threw the rug back into place, feeling uneasy. Should I have stayed, should I have said one final thing? She told me to leave, to escape… to come back for her when I can.

I padded across the room at a light jog, sliding out the heavy wooden door and into the hallway. I started for the stairs, traipsing up them as lightly as possible, looking over my shoulder every few steps.

When I came to the second landing I saw him, talking to the house elves, probably badgering them for my whereabouts. I knew I had guessed correctly when the house elf leaned around Draco, pointing in my direction. I took a moment to be scandalized that I was still wearing nothing more than a bed sheet until he turned his steely eyes on me, harsh and hawk like. I smiled brightly, as if I had been playing a game with him, giggling lightly as I rushed my way up the stairs, glancing over my shoulder to see if he would follow.

Follow he did, and he grabbed me before I reached the next landing, pushing me roughly into wall of rich, dark wood.

"Where were you?" he hissed, pinning me roughly to the wall by my shoulders. I felt my smile falter as I struggled to keep up the act.

"I was hiding… honey," I smiled, my voice light and innocent.

"Where?" he asked, his voice low and he leaned in closer, his nails biting marks into my bare shoulders.

"I… I dunno," I stammered, which was half true, "It was a room on the lower level, one with big drapes and a large fireplace."

His eyes narrowed in suspicion and I was sure I had just described half of the rooms in the manor.

"Why didn't you come when I called?" he asked, and I felt more and more like a child, a small, scared child at the hands of an overtly violent disciplinarian.

"I was hiding, I wanted you to find me… to find the gift I…" my voice faded away as I thrust the walking stick at him, freeing my shoulders as he took it in his hands.

"You got this for me?" he asked, his voice was still light and dangerous.

"Yes?" I answered in a small voice, resuming the biting of my cheek which had only started to heal and was now trickling blood into my mouth.

He turned to me and smiled, grabbing my hand in his as he used the walking stick with the other to mount the remaining stairs to the final landing. He pulled me along the corridor towards his bedroom, his fingers linked with mine as he smiled lightly.

He pushed the door wide, holding it open as I entered before him, the same light, contented smile playing on his lips as he followed me into the room.

"My grandfather had one just like this…" he mused, turning it over in his hands, feeling the weight, admiring the craftsmanship as the door banged shut behind us.


	17. Chapter 17

I lurched into the blackness. The first gale wind hit me, ice cold, flurries sticking to my hair, to my skin. I turned my back to the blow, curling my arms across my chest, hunching my shoulders.

* * *

><p>It had been five days since I had seen Luna… five days too many. I could only hope she didn't think I was just biding my time up here; having elegant dinners, being waited on by house elves day and night. Deep down I knew she would never think that of me, that she knew what careful, precise planning had to be done in the short span of time I had to pull it off. My hearing would come with the New Year, and with it my swift and unjust sentencing.<p>

Tomorrow was New Year's Eve and, with any luck, my last day in Malfoy Manor. I'd attempted to be on my best behavior the past few days, always allowing him to keep tabs on me, smiling at the very sight of him as if it brought me calm joy instead of a panicky flutter in my chest, coming to his room every night as he bid me to… as if I had a choice, as if my choice was him. He never requested anything of me, instead preferring to see that I act on my own accord; a shallow façade of tranquil love and admiration when really I was screaming underneath it all.

I needed help; that was for damn sure. I wanted Luna, I wanted to break her free, take her with me. Surely, she would know what to do. She was the brains of the last operation, I try to remember, hoping to gloss over the details in how it unraveled, landing me here.

The door creaked open and immediately I plastered a large, fake gargoyle grin to my face, looking up from the book I was pretending to be reading.

"Enjoying the study are you, my darling? I hardly find you elsewhere," his drawling voice reached me from across the vast stretch of area rugs and high backed chair.

I nodded, swallowing hard, "Just enjoying this… erm," I quickly turned it over to glance at the cover I hadn't even bothered to take note of since entering hours ago.

"I came to call you to dinner," he continued, cutting through my ignorance. I jumped to my feet at once, dropping the book on a side table as I looped my arm through his. The door shut with an ancient thud behind us as he proceeded to lead me through the labyrinth. But Malfoy Manor was becoming less of a maze for me than it originally was. And he had granted me access to every floor except the basements. When I had asked why, knowing full well what they contained, he brushed my curiosity aside airily stating it was the quarters for the house elves and the Malfoy wine cellar and bla bla bla fake fake fake. Of course I had smiled indulgently, trying my hardest to give off the pretense that a _musty, old cellar_ held no interest for me. And frankly, neither did book for that matter, yet it didn't stop me from spending countless hours in the library when Draco would "step out" for a bit. I never asked where he was going, but the curiosity ate at me constantly. I knew better than to question his business, especially if I needed to remain on the fraction of a good side he had.

"You look ravishing in that sweater," he commented, breaking me from my reverie, "One that Taelyre has made you?"

"Yes," I smiled quickly, glancing at the white cable knit an apt handed house elf had made me under the order that my wardrobe needed supplementing during my "visit". "She really is quite talented."

The dull clunk of the walking stick I had white-elephanted to him on Christmas broke into our silence. He took the thing everywhere though his young, virile body never called for its aid. It was his way of showing me his pleasure in the gift I had "bought" for him. And in return, I let the bejeweled serpents slither way home upon my ring finger, never taking it off lest he be watching.

He pulled back my chair for me, a gentleman as always, as we reached the large, ornately carved table. I dropped into it with a gracious word of thanks, folding my hands in my lap and attempting to look as demure as possible. When he had seated himself across from me, draping his napkin elegantly over his lap, house elves seemed to spring from the shadows at once, layering our table with platters of hot, crusty bread fresh from the over, tureens of steaming soup right from the stove. Fruits, cheeses, wine, anything I could have ever wanted, anything that might tickle my fancy.

"Soupe à l'oignon, Miss?" a house elf asked me timidly.

"Please," I smiled, his eyes, round and wide, softening as his apprehension ebbed. Apparently I was a matter of great discussion among the elves, most of which believed my kind words, no matter how distantly or exasperatedly spoken, to be rumor too good to be true. Harry had said the same of Dobby, and I had to wonder if it was true of all elves or just the ones under the Malfoy's cruel fist.

"In fact, do it up right. Show me how you would make it," I leaned back in my chair, giving him a clear shot of the spread before me. He looked almost confused, and I was sure he had never been asked to "do it up right" by anyone in Malfoy Manor before, incarcerated guest or not. I saw him give pause and take a deep breath before diving right in.

He ladles a generous portion into my bowl, swiftly grabbing a thin slice of the fresh bread, layering the top with a slice or two of thick, white cheese before dunking it all into the rich, beefy broth. We watched together as it floated back to the surface, the cheese oily and melted; the bread soddened from the piping bouillon.

He looked almost shocked at his own daring, touching the food with his "sub-human" hands, taking such liberties with the meal. Instead I leaned forward and smiled reassuring at him, "Perfect," I beamed, "Simply perfect" and was reward with a fleeting toothy grin in return.

I knew Draco was looking at me, eyeing the pass between myself and the elf. For the first time in days I ignored him. I leaned forward, over my soup, closing my eyes as the steaming broth warmed my chin. I sighed and took a deep breath… smells like home.

* * *

><p>My eyes flew open, defiant against the bright, wintry morning light. New Year's Ever. The day to escape. Days spent thinking when and how, and suddenly it was within my grasp. I felt alive, I felt on fire, as if every nerve in my body had lightening shooting through it.<p>

"Draco," I whispered, eager to start the day as I shoved his shoulder harder than I had intended, "Draco, wake up."

"Darling, it's early," he murmured, his eyes squeezing tightly shut as he grabbed a fistful of blanket, pulling it over both of us as he scooped me into his arms in an effort to block out the sun.

"But it's New Year's Eve," I whispered, "The party, your parent's party tonight. They'll be coming home, won't they? We'll have to set up for the evening, won't we?"

He groggily opened one eye to squint at me, more than likely trying to gage if he was still dreaming or if my eager enthusiasm was real.

"You're excited for the party?" his morning voice croaked. I nodded, though excited wasn't exactly the word. Shoved into a room of a hundred plus pureblood mania Death Eater socialites on the Eve of the New Year wasn't exactly my kind of party, yet I couldn't wait for eight o'clock when we could get the ball rolling.

But of course it never was as simple as that. The day seemed to drag, every minute was a fight. Draco insisted we stay in bed, grab a few more hours of shut eye when really I lay there, eyes wide in the stifling darkness beneath his comforter, his weight heavy and uncomfortable, his breath hot and acrid against my face. But I lay still so as to not disturb him, planning. With any luck, not that I was one for luck, I would be free of the Manor in less than ten hours' time.

His parents would be joining us later, just before the ball, he informed me during a lavish brunch. Per usual, I could have anything I requested. Man, what did they do with all of this food? A buffet apt for a whole Quidditch team, yet meant for just the two of us. Did the house elves at least get the left overs? Probably not, I considered, remembering where I was, and in that noting that hiring Ron as a manual disposal would also be out of the question. Damn, that guy could eat.

"You've hardly touched your plate," Draco noted from across the table, eyeing my full goblet and piled plate. Immediately I grabbed for a piece of toast and clamped it between my teeth. It tasted like carpet, rough and dry, as I chewed, but I swallowed it down and immediately took another mouthful. My stomach was storm-tossed sea of nerves and panic, yet I proceeded to cram it full of fresh fruits, eggs, and toast to appease the ever watchful eye of my captor.

As soon as my plate had emptied, Draco pulled me from my chair and into a bone-crushing embrace. It took me by surprise; though I tried it with what I hoped was an excited smile. I had slept in Draco's room every night since Christmas, yet that night was the only one we had… To be frank, we hardly touched outside of the expansive four walls of his quarters.

"You're happy?" he asked me, looking down into my gargoyle grin, and I was sure he could feel my knees knocking into his.

"Yes," I lied, and it seemed to satisfy him for he bent his head and kissed me lightly, lastingly. I shut my eyes, my hands on his shoulders, his arms wrapped around my waist, and savored it. After tonight, whether my plan was fruitful or wither before it could be plucked, this would be the last time I would be subject to his nice side. I could almost feel his cold, hard slap against my face.

* * *

><p>After a tedious afternoon of wandering the Manor, aiming to appear more mildly curious and care-free than hawk-eyed and detail engaged, I was sent to my quarters to be readied for the evening. Meeting the elite among the dark took some prepping on my part, apparently, and I was not the only one fidgeting with nerves as the set was staged.<p>

"I've left something for you," he announced to me as I placed my hand on the finely wrought handles of the lavish doors for my quarters.

I turned to face him. His demeanor was aloof, bordering on cold, but his eyes were alight and his cheeks had a faint pink tinge to them. "Left me something?"

He nodded, "And I hope to see you in it this evening."

He turned away, leaving me standing there feeling the full weight of the evening on my shoulders. Make it or break it, the show must go on.

* * *

><p>There was a knock at the bathroom door, louder and more intrusive than those before announcing the arrival of my personal army of house elves eager to polish and primp me for the evening. I had barely glanced at the door when a tall statuesque woman with long ice blond hair and a look of polite loathing sauntered in. He impossibly high heels clacked against the white marble floor until she was standing before me, hands on her hips, talon length nails painted the brighter than her pureblood status.<p>

I attempted to smile up at her from the pouf chair the elves had ushered me onto, allowing for easier accesses as they rounded my nails and curled my hair. She sighed openly, rolling her eyes as my pathetic smile because to falter. She reached out with incredible speed and forcefully grabbed my hand from Mahni, who sat still and lifeless, file in hand, eyes averted. I watched as her eyes narrowed in on the ring… my ring, I had to remind myself, scrutinizing every gem and detail.

She dropped my arm and it feel like lead into my lap. She took a deep breath and was all business, "The guests have begun to arrive. Draco will be up for you within the hour, I expect you to be ready and present yourself in a manner that will not embarrass this household and our reputation. Do you understand?"

I nodded meekly, feeling more like I was being lectured by McGonagall than welcomed by my _boyfriend's_ mother.

"Good. I'll be watching," and with that she was gone with a swish of her long black gown and a snap of the door lock. Mahni tentatively grabbed my for my hand once more, gently prodding me back into reality.

"Ready?" she squeaked, and I nodded, feeling the dress tighten around my middle and up to my chest as the zipper slid up its track and locked home. I felt her nimble hands tying the ribbon of the long string of thick pearls around my neck, fixing my elaborate curls with spare bobbys tucked between her lips. I turned to face the floor length mirror and as much I would have hated to admit it, I looked stunning.

Draco had chosen a beautiful dress which eerily enough fit like a glove. A rich dark green satin that pooled lightly around my modest silver heels, cinched tightly at my waist and up through my torso with hard boning in the corset that pressed my breasts tightly together making my breath come shallow and quick. The straps were thick and soft, hanging lightly off my shoulders, more for show than anything. Rather than a girl attending an extraordinary New Years' Ball I felt like lamb being led to slaughter.

Though he knocked lightly I still jumped at the sound, busy staring at my own reflection as if I was trying to make sense of it all. He opened the door, opening it just wide enough to slip through before closing it smartly behind him. He walked towards me, at home in his black tuxedo, complete with tails and gloves yet sans tie, his undershirt and satin waistband, a cummerbund I think my mom had called it during Bill's wedding. He was a vision, all in black off setting his delicate pallor and steely eyes. He smiled arrogantly as he looked me over, his eyes hungry as he look my hands in his and pulled me closer.

"You're a vision," he remarked, and I rewarded him with a smile, my first of many forced giggles and grins of the evening as I was paraded through the high society of Voldemort's elite. I smiled as Draco led me through a batch of his father's friends, I laughed rather than cringed away as older gentlemen touched my waist, I sipped generously at the flute of regenerating champagne in my hand, my other locked tightly in Draco's grasp or around his elbow.

* * *

><p>It was ten to midnight and my head was swimming, my stomach felt warm and full, and my eyes felt heavy. My cheeks hurt from the hours of smiling, yet still I continued to beam at Draco all through the evening, laugh at his every joke, swoon at his conservative kisses he would respectfully plant on the back of my hand. But ten to midnight, this was my time to act, it was now or never… and why for the moment was I even debating on siding never. It wasn't a bad life, the façade I had been forced into: security and safety, a man who would love and protect me, an end to the fear and running and pain.<p>

But wait… it wasn't the end of any of that, not for Luna who was locked away in the cellar, not for my mother who missed me dearly and had to stand idly by while the wedding she had spent near a year planning had turned to smoke and ash in minutes, and not Harry…never Harry.

I staggered into my date, closing my eyes against the spinning of the room, clamping my mouth shut at the vomit that threatened to rise in my throat at my recent indecision.

"Darling," Draco whispered in my ear, his hand forming a vice like grip upon my arm, "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes," I stuttered, "It's just the champagne and the … the it's just rather stuffy in here. I think I'll just excuse myself to the lavatory, some clear air and a chance to take a moment, yes…"

"Yes, that would be best," he simpered, his stare taking in my flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. "Shall I escort you?"

"N-no need, d-dear," I stammered more from nerves than the alcohol swimming through my blood stream, "I wouldn't want you to miss the party. No, I'll be right back."

"Alright, well hurry back, darling, we're mere minutes from midnight. I know I want that kiss," he grinned devilishly. I laughed lightly as I had been doing all evening, giving his arms a reassuring squeeze before making my way through the crowd, trying my best to avoid the hawk-like stare of his austere mother as I pressed my hands into the heavy mahogany and pushed my way into the hall.

The silence was deafening, the party mere centimeters away was nothing but a dull rumble of mumbling voices and clinking glasses. Hitching my dress up to my knees I ran, thankful for the thick red carpeting that had been laid down for the guests that afternoon that deafened my pounding feet. I turned the first corner, the pearls banging against my chest as my heart pounded against the tight boning of the dress. I was grabbing for the second corner, surrounding the hall, when I had almost ran headlong into Lucius Malfoy, deep in conversation with our new Minister, Pius Thickness. I ducked back behind the wall, slamming my back into the rough stone as I heard them share a laughed. A door to the hall opened and for a moment I was surrounded by the thrill of the evening once more. Before it had shut once more I caught wind of the beginning of the New Year.

"Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…" the crowd chorused together, becoming louder and more rowdy with each passing second.

I pounded on to the far length of the hall, freedom was in sight, the door to the back gardens was in reach, mere meters away as I sprinted down the long hall, the din of soiree growing behind me.

"Ten, nine, eight…" I could just image Draco pushing his way through the crowd, eyes frantically searching for me.

"Seven, six, five" He must have caught on by now, they would be on to me, searching for me.

"Four, three" My hands slamming into the cold steel and hard glass of the garden doors.

"Two" Pushing them open, pushing me to freedom.

"One"

I staggered into the ankle deep snow which immediately swallowed my feet and sullied my gown. The night air was thicker than the cold pressing against my lungs, slicing through every breath, tearing at my throat. My first taste of freedom in weeks, and it would kill me before morning.


End file.
